“Are you my father?” I whispered.
He nodded. My mother had told me my father disappeared before I was born. Henry explained that he had struggled with alcoholism, abandoned my pregnant mother, and spent years homeless. When he returned to town, shame prevented him from approaching us. My mother eventually found him and began bringing him Christmas dinner.
Inside the box, I discovered a letter from my mother. She admitted she had hidden the truth because she feared another disappearance would hurt me. She regretted waiting so long to explain, but wanted me to know that kindness didn’t mean forgetting someone’s mistakes.
