The man I had grown up calling Uncle Jackson.
According to the diary, my mother had fallen in love with him, even though he was already married. He left the country before she realized she was pregnant, and she never told him.
Leah pieced it all together after Mara died. She understood the truth, even though no one had ever said it out loud.
And then she made a decision.
She told everyone that I had been left by unknown parents and that she had chosen to raise me herself. She never corrected anyone who assumed I was her granddaughter by blood.
“I told myself it was to protect you,” she wrote. “But I was also afraid. Afraid of what the truth would do to his family. Afraid of what it would take from you.”
The final lines of the letter stayed with me long after I finished reading.
Jackson still doesn’t know. I believe some truths only make sense when we are strong enough to carry them. I trust you to decide what to do with this one.
I called Julian without thinking. My voice shook as I told him I needed him to come.
He arrived quickly. I handed him the letter and watched as he read it. His expression shifted from confusion to understanding, and then to something quieter, heavier.
“Jackson,” he said finally. “Your uncle.”
