The paper inside the envelope is heavier than I expected.
My heart pounds.
Charlie shifts closer on the couch, thigh pressed against mine, his hand firm and warm on my back like he’s holding me upright.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he murmurs.
I nod, even though I feel anything but ready.
I lift the first page.
There’s no lawyer letterhead.
No estate office.
Just a simple printed sheet with my old name at the top.
My stomach turns.
I force myself to read it aloud.
Mr. Joneson,
My name is Patrick Hale. I am a licensed private investigator in New South Wales. I have been employed to locate you on behalf of two individuals who have reason to believe they are your half-brothers.
My breath stops.
Brothers?
Charlie stiffens beside me. Sienna gasps as Evan rubs her back.
I keep reading.
Your father, Richard Joneson, passed away twelve months ago. Your mother’s passing preceded his by several years. Upon your father's death, another woman came forward with information she had previously been too afraid to disclose. She informed her sons that they had an older brother who had been born before she met their father.
My throat closes.
I can’t breathe.
But I keep going.
There is no legal or financial matter requiring your involvement. All remaining assets were transferred to the church prior to your father’s death. This is a personal matter only. Your brothers have requested contact, should you be willing. They have been attempting to find you for the past year, as all records under your birth name ceased at the age of eighteen.
The world tilts.
Sienna’s fingers tighten on mine.
Charlie’s hand slides to my knee.
Evan’s low exhale rumbles beside me.
A second page slips into my lap.
A handwritten note.
My hands shake as I unfold it.
Derrick,
