That was the story I’d lived with for eighteen years.
He’d been asking more about Andrew.
***
Now, Leo looked down at the table. “I need you to not… be mad at me.”
“Honey, I’m not promising anything until I know the truth.”
He swallowed. “I took one of those DNA tests.”
For a moment, I just stared at him.
“You did what?”
“I know.” He rushed the words out. “I should’ve told you. I just… wanted to find him. Or somebody connected to him. Maybe a cousin or an aunt, anyone who could tell me why he left.”
“You did what?”
The hurt came fast, not because my son wanted answers, but because he deserved them, and he’d gone looking alone.
“Leo,” I said softly.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
I rubbed the corner of the dish towel between my fingers. “Did you find him?”
His voice dropped. “No, Mom.”
I nodded once, like that hadn’t hit me in the ribs.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“But I found his sister.”
I looked up. “His what?”
“His sister. Her name’s Gwen.”
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Andrew didn’t have a sister, honey.”
“Mom.”
“No, I mean… okay, it’s complicated, Leo.”
My son frowned. “You knew about her?”
“But I found his sister.”
“I knew he had a sister,” I said. “But I never met her. Sometimes I wondered if she really existed. She was older and already away at college, I think. Andrew said his parents acted like she didn’t exist half the time.”
“Why?”
