It was a folded stack of papers.

Old. Yellowed at the edges. Tied together with a faded blue ribbon.

“They were in his backpack,” Amelia said, panic sharpening her words. “Hidden in the lining. Oliver… they’re letters. And documents.”I sat up fully now, heart pounding, and took them from her hands.

The first page wasn’t a letter.

It was a birth certificate copy.

Leo’s.

And under Father—a name I had never seen before.

Not deceased.My chest tightened.

Below it was a court document. Then another. And another.

Restraining orders. Sealed juvenile records. A newspaper clipping photocopied so many times it was barely readable.A man wanted for armed robbery twelve years ago. Presumed dead after disappearing.

Same name.

Same date of birth.Leo’s father.

Amelia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Oliver… what if it’s genetic? What if—”

I raised my hand.

“Stop.”
“What you’re doing right now,” I said slowly, “is not fear for our family. It’s fear of my son.”

She recoiled. “I’m trying to protect us!”

“No,” I said quietly. “You’re asking me to abandon a child because of something he didn’t choose.”

We sat in silence for a long moment