“I don’t know where to begin,” she says softly, and her words just hang in the air.
I can’t hold it in anymore. The anger that’s been boiling inside me spills out in a way I can’t control. “Oh, I don’t know, how about we start with why I’ve been lied to for twenty years?” I demand, my voice filled with all the pain I’ve been carrying.
My dad sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry we lied to you, but we were only trying to protect you and Abigail. She’s our kid, and as her parents, we did everything we could to shield both of you,” he explains, his voice strained like he’s pleading for me to understand.
“And we did what we thought was best for you at the time,” my mom chokes out. “I was happy to raise you like you were my child.”
But my heart twists with a bitter truth. “But I’m not, am I? I’m hers!” I yell, my eyes locking with Abigail’s. “Were you planning on ever telling me?”
Abigail flinches, tears streaming down her face, and my anger spikes. “For that, I take full responsibility. I asked Mom and Dad not to tell you,” she admits. “Blair, I am so sorry.”
“Who is my dad? Does he know about me? Does he not want to know me? I need all these questions answered.” The floodgates are open now, and the questions keep pouring out of me, faster than I can catch them.
Abigail hesitates for a moment, her shoulders tense, before speaking: “His name is Ryan Foster. We went to middle school and freshman year of high school together until his family moved away. By the time I found out I was pregnant, he was gone. I was too embarrassed and heartbroken to reach out to him. But he’s a good man, and a few months ago, we reconnected. When I told him about you, he wanted nothing more than to be in your life. I asked him for time, buthe’s been waiting to meet you.” Her voice is soft, but I hear the guilt in every word, and for a second, I almost feel sorry for her.
But I can’t focus on her pain. I can’t even think about her guilt right now. I have to know the truth. “So, he knows? Where is he?” My voice cracks, and the anger inside me is boiling over, far too hot to contain.
Abigail looks at me, a shadow of uncertainty crossing her face. “He’s downstairs. And if you’re ready, he’s eager to meet you. But before you do, there’s something you need to know about him.”
A flash of panic rushes through me. Does he have another family? Did he abandon me for someone else? Is he even who he says he is? My mind races, creating a thousand terrifying scenarios.
“He… um, he…” She trails off.
“What? He what?” I ask.
“How about I show you a picture of him?” Abigail says. She fumbles with her phone, and I brace myself, heart pounding in my chest like a war drum.
She steps closer, cautious.
I take the phone from her stiff fingers, my own trembling as I look down at the screen. A man stares back at me, striking, warm-eyed, with a smile that feels like it should mean something. He looks nothing like the man I expected to be my father. But the resemblance is there, he looks like… me.
She clears her throat, like she’s about to break the world apart again. “He’s biracial,” she says, voice hoarse. “Half white, half Indian.”
“My… my dad is Indian?”
Abigail nods, her eyes brimming with regret. “He’s a good man, Blair. A really good man.”
But I can’t hear her through the thunder of my own rage. Ifeel it building in me like a storm, pressing against my ribs, sharp and poisonous.
“Are you telling me there’s a whole side of me I’ve never known?” My voice is low, shaking. “A whole culture? A whole identity you just decided wasn’t worth telling me about?”
Abigail’s face crumples, but I can’t stop. I won’t.
“You kept an entire history from me. A language. A heritage. A name. What if I had come out a few shades darker? Would that have been enough for you to tell me the truth? Or would you have let me keep walking around thinking I was some pale version of white picket fence perfection? What the fuck, Abby?”
Her sob is sharp, cutting through the air like glass. “I was trying to protect you.”
“From what!?” I yell, not recognizing the rage in me. Abigail and I haven’t always seen eye to eye. She’s done things I don’t agree with, but this… is too much. “Just admit it, you weren’t trying to protect me, you were trying to protect yourself.” My voice is raw, blistering. “From shame. From judgment. From whatever the fuck you thought would happen if people knew you had a baby at fourteen. And you know what? I get that. I get it. But I deserved to know. I deserved to grow up knowing all of who I am.”
It’s silent. Then, my… God, what do I even call her now? My grandmother says gently, “Maybe we should take a moment. Think before we say something we can’t take back.”
But I’m already past the point of no return.
“You said he’s downstairs?”
Abigail looks at me, startled. “Yes, but…”
“Tell him to come up,” I say, steadily even though my hands are shaking. “I want to meet him.”
