Days passed slowly.
I spent most of them lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence speak. In those quiet moments, my thoughts always drifted to the same place—what life might have been like if I had grown up with my biological father present.
I wondered what kind of man I would have been.
Yet, even as those thoughts lingered, I knew the truth. My mother had been everything. She had taught me how to stand, how to respect myself, how to carry responsibility like a man should. She had filled every gap with love, even when it cost her strength.
Still, curiosity has a way of reopening old doors.
As I lay there, my mind pulled me back to years ago—back to high school—when I met my father at the mall for the first time.
“I’m so happy to see you, my son,” he said, pul
