Christmas Eve, typically chaotic, became unforgettable. Exhausted from back-to-back night shifts, I fell asleep in a taxi. Waking up, I found myself in a strange garage.
Panic set in until a silhouette emerged. “Megan Price?” he asked, his voice low. “Your boyfriend made it all up.” Confusion surged.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“I’m your father,” he replied, tears welling up.
Disbelief shook me. Jeremy, my boyfriend, appeared with a DNA test. “I searched for your family,” he explained.
The truth unraveled: my mother’s secrets, my father’s ignorance. Resentment mingled with longing.
“I didn’t know about you,” he said, voice trembling.
“I grew up without you,” I countered.
He took a step closer. “I’d like to be here now.”
Jeremy’s hand grounded me. “Maybe I don’t have to go through this alone.”
I met my father’s gaze. “I don’t know if I can call you Dad yet… but I’d like to know you.”
Tears streamed down his face. “Thank you, Megan.”
A tentative step forward, and the years separating us began to fade.