I’m Billy, and until recently, I thought I was living the dream as an only child, showered with love by my parents. Just last week, my dad surprised me with a new gaming console.
“What’s this for?” I asked, thrilled.
“Do I need a reason to spoil my favorite son?” he smiled.
That’s how it’s always been—just the three of us in a perfect life. Until I took an ancestry DNA test on my 18th birthday, curious about my heritage. I never expected it to change my life.
When the results came in, my heart raced. I was matched with a brother—Daniel.
This had to be a mistake! I called the company, but they confirmed the accuracy of the results. I needed answers, so I waited for Dad to come home.
A man looking at his son | Source: Midjourney
“Hey, Dad? Can we talk?” I asked.
“Sure, what’s on your mind?” he replied.
“Do you know someone named Daniel?” I asked, holding my breath.
His face went pale. “Where did you hear that name?” he asked urgently.
I told him about the results. He hesitated, then said, “Don’t tell your mom. She doesn’t know. I had an affair years ago.”
I promised to keep quiet but felt something was off. That night, I reached out to Daniel, and we agreed to meet at a café the next day.
When we met, I immediately recognized him. He looked just like me.
“You remember the lake by our old house?” he asked. “We swung on the rusty swing set.”
“No, I don’t,” I replied. “We never lived together.”
Daniel’s smile faded. “We lived together until we were five. Our house burned down. Our parents didn’t make it.”
I was shocked. “What?”
“I remember how you saved me,” he said. “You were adopted, and I was placed with another family.”
“That can’t be right. I would know if I was adopted,” I argued.
“This is the truth, Billy,” he insisted.
Confused and angry, I returned home and decided to dig deeper. While my parents were out, I snuck into Dad’s office and found documents confirming Daniel’s story—a lawsuit about a fire in the building my adoptive parents owned.
The fire, caused by their negligence, took my biological parents’ lives. I was shocked to learn I was adopted—not out of love, but to cover their tracks.
That evening, I confronted my dad. “I didn’t know you owned this building. What happened with the fire?”
His face showed fear. “That was ages ago. It was a tragedy. Why are you looking into it?”
“I met someone who knew me before I was adopted,” I revealed.
He stammered, trying to deflect, but it was too late. I packed my things and called Daniel, asking to stay with him.
As I left, Dad apologized, but I couldn’t forgive him.
Daniel welcomed me, and over dinner, he said, “They stole you from me. From us.”
I didn’t know how to respond. My whole life had been a lie, but I felt grateful for the connection I had with my brother.
