I stared at him.
He took one step toward me, then stopped. “I was going to tell you,” he said. “Many times. I just… every year it got harder. And then you were my son in every way that mattered, and I didn’t want anything to touch that.”
My mother stepped in before I could answer.
“You’re mine,” she said, like she was offering me a prize. “We can finally start over.”
Then she pulled another document from the envelope and held it out.
“Now all that’s left is to sign.”
I looked down.
It was a legal statement authorizing access to personal identity records and acknowledging a parental claim. There was language about correcting family information, next-of-kin recognition, and representation in certain financial and medical matters.
