My sister didn’t survive childbirth, and without a second thought, I took her child in. Yesterday, I received a letter from a lawyer that made my heart sink…
As usual, I was sorting through the evening mail when my eyes fell on a yellow envelope. It was an ordinary envelope, but inside was a copy of a document dated on the boy’s birthday. My hands began to tremble: I had raised him as my own for ten years, hiding the truth about his real father. But now, this lie threatened to turn against me. It turned out that my sister, in her final moments, managed to…
Ten years have passed since that dreadful day in the hospital when I was handed a tiny, squealing bundle. I held him close to my chest and vowed to be everything to him. My little sister never got the chance to come back to us, never got to hold her son to her heart. Since then, I’ve lived for him. Every lullaby, every first step, every scraped knee — we went through it together. I’ve long since gotten used to calling him my son, and he calls me mom. We lived in a quiet suburb, and I worked two jobs to ensure he had the best, believing that our small happiness was well-protected.
Yesterday, everything fell apart. I found a thick envelope from a law firm in the mailbox. The letter, in dry legal language, informed me that a certain gentleman had initiated a process to establish guardianship. My legs gave way when I saw the sender’s name. It was a man my sister secretly dated — much older, influential, and wealthy. He disappeared as soon as he found out about her condition.
My sister never mentioned his name out loud, protecting me from unnecessary worries, but it turned out she kept a diary. This diary ended up in his hands recently, after the passing of his elderly parents. Now, realizing he’s completely alone in his enormous house, he wants to “set things right.”
The letter from the lawyer hinted unambiguously: my nephew has the right to a life of luxury, an elite education, and an inheritance I could never provide him. This man is ready to acknowledge the boy, give him his last name, and take him to another world where there’s no place for past grievances or my modest apartment.
All evening, I watched my son doing his homework. He looks so much like my sister: the same tilt of the head, the same dimples on the cheeks. I imagined people in suits arriving, showing papers, and taking him away to be with a man who, for ten years, never even remembered the existence of his own child. To this “father,” my boy is just a way to atone for past sins or fill the void of loneliness, but to me, he’s my whole life, every breath, and the meaning of my existence.
The lawyer persistently suggests a meeting “on good terms,” hinting at generous compensation for me. But can ten years of sleepless nights and unconditional love be measured in money? The most frightening part is that the law might be on his side. I’m scared that the truth will shatter my child’s fragile world, who doesn’t even know about the storm brewing behind him.
What do you think? Should I allow this man into our lives for the sake of the boy’s material future, or am I obliged to defend our right to be a family to the very end, despite his money and influence?
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