All my life, I was the shadow in my own home. My mother adored my sisters—Kira and Alexa—but treated me like a burden. I looked too much like the man she wanted to forget. That man, I would later learn, wasn’t even my real father.
I wore their hand-me-downs, did their chores, and received none of the warmth they did. My “father” tried to protect me, but even his love faded as suspicion grew. One day, their shouting revealed the truth: I might not be his child. I took a DNA test. The results shattered everything—he wasn’t my biological father. Nor was Kira his daughter. He left us, and my mother’s resentment toward me deepened.
She blamed me for the divorce, for her misery, for everything. I became invisible unless she needed something. Alexa bullied me. Kira was still her golden child. I worked, paid rent, and endured. But I never stopped wondering who I really was.
Eventually, I demanded my mother tell me my real father’s name. She lied—twice. When I finally got the correct address, I traveled five hours to meet Rick. The moment he opened the door, he knew. “You’re my daughter,” he said, without hesitation.
He welcomed me into a warm, loving home. He told me he’d paid child support for years, but my mother had told him I hated him. She told me he abandoned me. She lied to both of us.
In Rick’s arms, I felt something I’d never known—unconditional love. I wasn’t a mistake. I wasn’t a burden. I was wanted. And for the first time, I believed it.
