Years later, my husband Matt encouraged me to search for answers. We visited the orphanage where I was supposedly adopted, but they had no record of me. Confused, I confronted Dad.
His face went pale. Finally, he admitted, “You weren’t adopted. Your mother had an affair, and you’re her child… but not mine.”
The truth shattered me. His lie wasn’t to protect me—it was his way of punishing me for something that wasn’t my fault.
Tears streamed down my face as I walked out, leaving behind a man who couldn’t let go of his pain. For the first time, I resolved to discover who I truly was—on my own terms.