I Became a Mother at 17 – Years Later, My Son Took a DNA Test to Find His Father but Uncovered a Truth That Left Me Weak in the Knees

I Became a Mother at 17 – Years Later, My Son Took a DNA Test to Find His Father but Uncovered a Truth That Left Me Weak in the Knees

“But I found his sister.”

“I knew he had a sister,” I said. “But I never met her. Sometimes I wondered if she really existed. She was older and already away at college, I think. Andrew said his parents acted like she didn’t exist half the time.”

“Why?”

I gave a helpless laugh. “Because she dyed her hair black, dated some guy in a garage band, and apparently that was enough to scandalize the family for life.”

That almost got a smile out of him.

“She was the black sheep,” I said. “At least, that’s how Andrew made it sound. He never talked about her much. His mother liked things neat and tidy. Gwen didn’t sound neat.”

I gave a helpless laugh.

Leo pushed his phone toward me. “I messaged her.”

I closed my eyes for half a second, then held out my hand. “Okay, show me.”

He unlocked the screen. “I kept it simple.”

His first message was careful, polite, and almost too adult:

I opened it.

Leo dropped beside me.

“Heather,

I know this looks bad. Please don’t believe I left you. I’m trying to come back. I promise.

— A.”

The air left my lungs.

“Mom?” Leo whispered.

I couldn’t answer. I grabbed another letter.

“I don’t know if you hate me. My mother says you do. I don’t believe her, but I don’t know how to reach you otherwise.”

“Oh no, no, no,” I muttered.

I know this looks bad.”

Leo moved closer. “What is it?”

“He thought I hated him.”

Gwen let out a shaky breath. “That’s what our mother told him. She didn’t just lie, Heather. She stole eighteen years from all of you.”

I opened the third letter so fast I almost tore it.

“If it’s a boy, I hope he laughs like you do when you’re really happy.”

My hand flew to my mouth.

Leo stared at me. “He wrote that.”

“He thought I hated him.”

I nodded and passed him one of the birthday cards.

“Read it,” I said.

He opened it carefully.

Inside, the handwriting was Andrew’s.

“To my child,

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