He stared at the ground, his expression heavy with regret. “You weren’t adopted,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re your mother’s child… but not mine. She had an affair.”

His words struck me like a blow. “What are you saying?”

“She cheated on me,” he said, bitterness lacing his tone. “When she got pregnant, she begged me not to leave. I stayed, but every time I looked at you, all I could see was what she did to me. So I made up the adoption story.”

My hands began to shake. “You lied to me my whole life? Why would you do something like that?”

He exhaled, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his guilt. “I don’t know. I was hurt. Angry. I thought if you believed you weren’t mine, it might make things easier for me. Maybe it would stop me from hating her so much. It was foolish. I’m sorry.”

Tears blurred my vision as my voice trembled. “You faked the documents?”

He nodded, shame etched into every line of his face. “I had a friend in the records office. He owed me a favor. It wasn’t difficult to make it look official.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. All the teasing I’d endured, the visits to orphanages, the remarks about my “real parents”—none of it had ever been about me. It was his way of coping with his pain.

“I was just a child,” I said, my voice barely audible. “I didn’t deserve this.”

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking. “I know I let you down.”

I rose to my feet, my legs feeling unsteady beneath me. “I can’t do this right now. When the time comes, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. But I can’t stay,” I said, turning to Matt. “Let’s go.”

Matt’s jaw tightened as he glared at my father. He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You’re coming with me,” he said gently.

As we stepped out the door, my father’s voice called after me. “I’m sorry! I truly am!”

But I didn’t turn back.