The other was Michael.
They looked striking.
On the back of the photo was handwritten:
“Robert and Michael, 1992.”
“You were brothers,” I said.
– Yes.
Daniel sits down.
“My father told me that Michael died in an accident when I was ten years old.
Michael rubbed his forehead.
That was simpler than the truth.
Then he raises his eyes to Daniel.
Your father made me disappear from the family.
Why?
Michael is hesitant.
Because of your mother.
The room seemed to shrink.
Daniel became pale.
What was my mother connected to?
Michael pulled out of his bag an old, elastic-bound-connected map.
Inside were letters.
Dozens.
Some yellow. Some yellow.
Daniel took the first.
I saw his expression change as he read.
What does it say?
He didn’t answer me.
He handed me the letter.
It was addressed to Michael.
Signed by Daniel’s mother.
“Don’t come to the house. Robert suspects. If he finds the truth about Daniel, he will destroy us all.”
I felt my breathtaking.
Daniel lifts his eyes.
– What truth?
Michael had tears in his eyes.
I am your biological father.
No one said anything.
Only the rain was heard hitting the window.
Daniel burst into a short laugh, devoid of any cheerfulness.
– No.
Michael is not moving.
I am so sorry.
– No!
Daniel is getting up.
My father raised me. He taught me to ride a bike. He took me to school. He…
His voice was broken.
Michael nodded.
– I know. And I’m not trying to take his place.
The truth is surfacing slowly.
Many years ago, before Daniel’s parents got married, his mother had a brief relationship with Michael.
Then he chose Robert.
When Daniel was born, Robert thought the boy was his.
Years later, he found out the truth.
He had not divorced.
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