But the real surprise was in a second envelope.
It said on it:
“For Daniel, if he ever wants to know.”
My mother left him to Margaret years ago.simo
It wasn’t my biological father’s name.
It was just an explanation.
My mother had written to me that the man I called a father who raised me was my father in all the things that mattered in my childhood. But there was some of her past that she had no courage to tell me before she died.
He didn’t want anyone else to decide for me if I had to find out.
I left that night with the children after the photos and the mother’s letter.
But I didn’t accept every story as absolute truth just because it was emotional.
In the coming weeks I started checking.
I spoke to my little girl.
I searched for old documents.
I found photos, letters and data that confirmed many of Margaret’s stories.
I also found out that my biological father was alive.
I didn’t call him right away.
I needed time.
First I talked to the father who had raised me.
I was most afraid of that conversation.
But when I showed him the letter, he remained silent for a long time.
Then he said to me:
I knew there was a possibility that you might not be biological of mine.
I’m out of words.
– Did you know?
Your mother told me before we got married.
And you didn’t want to find out?
He smiled sadly.
I wanted to be your father. For me, the important question was already resolved.
Later, with the agreement of everyone involved, we also did the necessary tests to biologically clarify things.
The result confirmed what the mother had suspected.
The man he wrote about was my biological father.
I met him a few months later.simo
It wasn’t a movie-like reunion.
We didn’t hug crying after five minutes.
We were two strangers connected by a biological truth and by a woman who was no longer there to explain everything to us.
We have built a relationship slowly.
And Margaret?
After the end of the semester, she was no longer my teacher.
He again apologised for the handling of the situation and for the fact that he had crossed a limit when he had kissed me on the cheek.
I accepted the apology.
Every once in a while I was drinking coffee together and he was telling me about my mother.
