When I got there, I froze when I saw the police cars outside the house.

Red and blue lights flashed against the windows that had once been my home. My heart dropped into my stomach. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I thought maybe my stepdad was hurt. Maybe something had happened to his son. Maybe—

I jumped out of the taxi before it even stopped completely and ran up the driveway.

“Wait!” my stepdad shouted when he saw me. His face was pale, his eyes swollen from crying. He looked older than I remembered, like the past week had aged him ten years.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice shaking.

He couldn’t answer. He just pointed toward the house.

Inside, two officers stood near the living room. An ambulance was parked outside. And on the couch, covered with a white sheet, was a shape I recognized immediately.

It was his son.

The same boy who had laughed at me.
The same boy who told me my mother never loved me.
The same boy who had watched me pack my life into two bags and walk away.

He had died suddenly in his sleep. The doctors later said it was a rare heart condition that no one knew about.

I sank into a chair, numb.

My stepdad sat beside me and started sobbing.

“I didn’t mean it,” he cried. “I didn’t mean any of it. I was angry. I was grieving. I took it out on you. I let him hurt you. I failed you.”

For the first time since my mom passed, someone finally admitted the truth.

“I should’ve protected you,” he continued. “Your mother loved you more than anything. She talked about you every day. She wanted this house to be yours someday. I… I found her will last night.”