‘You’re my son, Dylan. Now we can start all over again.’
I could barely speak.
‘What…?’
She took out another folder — documents.
‘All that’s left is to sign.’
It was a legal contract.
She wanted a share in my company.
In LaunchPad — the project I’d built without her.
That was when I truly saw, for the first time, who was standing before me.
She hadn’t come for reconciliation.
She’d come for profit.
‘Now I understand everything,’ I said quietly.
I clenched the paper with the test results.
‘Blood doesn’t make a person a parent. My father is Greg. He raised me. He loved me when you weren’t around. And to me, you’re just a stranger.’
‘You can’t do this…’ Her voice turned cold.
‘I can. And I will.’
I handed the documents back to her — unsigned.
— Once, you walked out without thinking of the consequences. And today, I’m simply closing the door.
Later, the kitchen smelled of garlic and thyme. I was cooking our favourite dish — a thick lamb stew.
Dad stood beside me, stirring it slowly with a spoon.
‘She waited twenty-two years…’ he said quietly.
‘And it hit both of us at once,’ I replied.
He was silent.
‘It doesn’t change anything,’ I said. ‘You’re my father. And you always will be.’
His eyes fluttered.
‘It feels as though I’ve lost something…’ he admitted.
I put my hand on his shoulder.
‘You haven’t lost anything. Quite the opposite. Now I understand even better just how much you’ve done for me.’
He asked quietly:
‘Are we still okay?’
‘We’ve always been okay,’ I replied. ‘You and I are family.’
We sat at the table and ate in silence.
I thought the story was over.
But I was wrong.