decades using his misplaced guilt as leverage over his life.
Part 6
That evening, I drove to the Phoenix house and handed Dad the official DNA report without saying a word.
He read through the laboratory results twice before slowly sinking into an armchair, his hands shaking.
“She knew this whole time?” he whispered, barely loud enough to hear.
“Yes, Dad, she knew, and so did Mom,” I replied gently.
He released a hollow laugh that echoed through the high-ceilinged room.
“All these long years, I genuinely believed I was
