He didn’t arrive crying or saying “Mom.” He walked into a District Attorney’s office in an expensive suit, with a hardened face and eyes identical to my mother’s.

That was the worst part.

He had her eyes.

My mom was in a wheelchair, still weak. Upon seeing him, she pressed a hand to her chest.

“Son…”

Edward raised his hand to cut her off.

“Don’t call me that.”

My mother shrank back as if she had been struck.

I stood up.

“Don’t speak to her like that.”

Edward looked at me.

“And who are you?”

“The daughter they actually let her raise.”

The line hit him hard.

But it didn’t soften him.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” he said. “My father is dead. My mother is too. The people who raised me are my family. I am not going to allow an old story to destroy everything they built.”

My mom spoke up in a tiny voice:

“I don’t want your money.”