All those years, all those memories were built on a lie.
“Karma’s got a twisted sense of humor,” I told Mark later that night, after David had gone to bed in our guest room. “Dad abandoned us for another woman, and she lied to him about David being his son. As you treat others, right?”
When I told David the truth, he crumpled like a paper bag.
“So I’ve got no one,” he whispered, and I saw the eight-year-old me in his eyes, standing in a social worker’s office, clutching a stuffed bear and trying not to cry.
“That’s not true.” I took his hand.
“Listen, I know what it’s like to feel completely alone.
To wonder if you’ll ever belong anywhere again. But you found me for a reason, DNA or not. If you want, we can make this official.
You could stay with us and be part of our family.”
His eyes widened. “Really? But I’m not… we’re not—”
“Family is more than blood,” Mark said from the doorway.
“It’s choice, it’s love, and it’s showing up every day and choosing to stick around.”
David’s answer was a hug so fierce it knocked the breath from my lungs.
A year later, we hung ornaments together, laughing as Katie directed us from her perch on Mark’s shoulders. The old photo of my parents sat on our mantel now, next to a new one of David, Katie, Mark, and me, all wearing matching Christmas sweaters.
We were a family now, brought together in a way that felt a little like a Christmas miracle. The kind of miracle that didn’t need magic, just open hearts and the courage to say yes to love.
I watched David help Katie place the star on top of our tree, their faces glowing in the Christmas lights, and felt the last shard of old hurt dissolve into something warmer.
Something like peace.
