“It proves this man,” she said, pointing casually toward my father as if he were a stranger, “is not your biological father.”
The world narrowed.
The sounds of the street disappeared. The birds. The traffic. Even my own breathing. All I could hear was the pounding in my ears.
I looked at my dad.
He looked like someone had drained the blood from his face.
“You knew?” I asked, but my voice barely came out.
He swallowed hard. “I found out when you were a baby,” he said quietly. “She told me before she left.”
