My parents ushered us into the house as if in a trance.
For several long minutes they remained silent, staring at Leo, his face pale. He sat calmly on the couch, his knees bent, his gaze shifting between them and me, filled with quiet uncertainty.
Finally, my father spoke, his voice shaking.
“Something… seems familiar.”
“It should be,” I replied calmly. “Because you know who his father is.”
My mother frowned. “What do you mean? Who are you talking about?”
I met my father’s gaze. “Do you remember Robert Keller?”
His reaction was immediate.
Robert Keller had been my father’s business partner. A trusted friend. He often came to dinner with us, laughed with my parents, asked about my studies and hobbies—far too much attention for him. He was fifteen years older than me, always smiling, always present.
“That’s not true,” my father muttered.
“I wish,” I replied.
I rummaged through my bag and placed a folder on the table. Inside were DNA test results, affidavits, and sealed legal documents.
“Then I stayed silent because I was afraid,” I said. “I knew exactly what would happen. I knew you would protect your reputation, your business, everything except me.”
My mother put a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God…”
“I consulted a lawyer a year after Leo was born. But I never followed through. I didn’t want my son to end up in court and in the newspapers.” I was just trying to survive.
“But he was…” My father’s voice cracked. “He was my friend.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” I said softly. “He was your friend. He was never mine.”
My father sank into his chair as if all his strength had left him.
“They kicked me out,” I continued, feeling the bitterness beginning to build inside me. “They called me a liar. They threatened me. And no one ever asked me why I couldn’t say who the father was.”
