And I hadn’t known.
That evening, I barely touched my dinner.
My father noticed immediately.
“Something wrong?”
I looked at him across the table.
“Today, I met someone at work.”
He continued eating.
“Who?”
“Mrs. Jenkins. The cleaning lady from my school.”
His fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
I noticed the change in his expression.
Then I asked the question that had been haunting me since that afternoon.
“She told me she’s my mother. Is that true?”
My father slowly put down his fork.
For several seconds, he said
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