Chapter 1
“Stop pretending you’re my father. You’re not.”
My words cut through the dining room like a blade.
I knocked Marcus’s hand away from mine, sending his fork clattering against his plate.
For one terrible second, nobody moved.
Marcus stared at me across the table. His expression barely changed, but I watched something inside him break.
He had been reaching to pass me the mashed potatoes.
That was all.
And somehow, I had turned an ordinary family dinner into another battlefield.
“Nia,” my mother warned.
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms.
“What? I’m just telling the truth.”
My mother, Angela, slowly set down her glass.
Her curly hair framed a face that had suddenly become frighteningly still. I knew that expression. It meant I had pushed her too far.
“Don't you dare speak to Marcus like that.”
I rolled my eyes.
“He’s not my father, Mom. You can't force me to pretend he is.”
Marcus lowered his gaze to his plate.
That made me angrier.
I hated the way he always stayed quiet when I challenged him. He never raised his voice. Never threatened me. Never reminded me how much money he spent helping me.
He simply looked hurt.
Somehow, that made me feel guilty, and I despised him for making me feel that way.
“My real father is still my father,” I snapped. “Just because you married someone else doesn't mean I have to replace him.”
My mother slammed her palm against the table.
The silverware jumped.
“Your real father abandoned you!”
“That's your version!”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
Silence swallowed the room.
Marcus closed his eyes briefly.
My mother stared at me as though she no longer recognized the young woman sitting across from her.
Then she stood.
“Fine,” she said quietly.
She walked toward the wooden cabinet beside the hallway.
I watched her open the bottom drawer, move aside several old photographs, and retrieve a yellowed envelope.
It looked ancient.
The edges had softened with age, and the paper bore a handwritten name I recognized immediately.
Mine.
NIA.
My anger faltered.
“What is that?”
My mother returned to the table and placed the envelope in front of me.
“Something I should have shown you years ago.”
I looked from the envelope to her face.
“What does this have to do with Dad?”
Marcus suddenly sat straighter.
For the first time that evening, he looked genuinely afraid.
“Angela,” he whispered.
She turned toward him.
“No. Not this time.”
“Please,” he said. “She isn't ready.”
My stomach tightened.
Ready for what?
I picked up the envelope, feeling its brittle edges beneath my fingertips.
The handwriting belonged to my biological father, David.
I had seen it on birthday cards when I was little, back when he still remembered that I existed.
He had disappeared from my life when I was eleven.
At least, that was what I had always believed.
My mother had told me he left Georgia after their divorce. He stopped calling. Stopped sending gifts. Eventually, he stopped answering my messages.
I had spent nine years imagining the explanations.
Maybe he had another family.
Maybe I had disappointed him.
Maybe he simply hadn't loved me enough to stay.
And now my mother was placing an old letter in front of me as though it could explain everything.
“Open it,” she said.
I slid one finger beneath the sealed flap.
Marcus reached across the table and gently caught my wrist.
“Angela,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “She doesn't know.”
I jerked my hand away.
“Know what?”
Neither of them answered.
My heartbeat pounded in my ears.
I stared at Marcus, the man who had attended every school performance, waited outside every hospital room, and taught me how to drive when I was sixteen.
The man I had spent years treating like an unwanted guest in my mother's life.
“What are you hiding from me?”
My mother pulled out the chair beside me and sat down.
Her eyes glistened.
“Your father didn't disappear the way you think he did.”
I felt the room tilt.
“What does that mean?”
She looked at the envelope.
“It means somebody made sure you would believe he abandoned you.”
My fingers went numb.
I turned toward Marcus.
He looked down at his hands.
And that was when I noticed something that made my blood run cold.
He wasn't looking at the letter.
He was staring at my mother's face.
Like he already knew exactly what it contained.
“Mom,” I whispered. “Why does Marcus look like he's about to lose everything?”
My mother reached for my hand.
“Because the truth is going to hurt all of us.”
I pulled away.
“No. You don't get to say that and then stop talking.”
She took a shaky breath.
“Then ask him.”
I turned toward Marcus.
His eyes were wet now.
“Did you know something about my father?”
He opened his mouth, but no words came.
I pushed my chair back.
“Answer me!”
Marcus finally looked directly at me.
“Yes.”
One word.
It shattered everything I thought I understood.
I picked up the envelope again.
This time, nobody stopped me.
But before I could break the seal, Marcus whispered something that made my entire body freeze.
“Nia, whatever you read in that letter, please understand that I never wanted you to hate your father.”
I stared at him.
“Then why did you let me?”
May you like
His face crumpled.
And my mother began to cry.
