Brielle opened the door before I could knock twice. Her eyes were already red. I held up the note with a shaking hand and read the last sentence out loud. My mother told me before she died that you always knew about me, and never wanted to meet me. “Is this true?” I asked her. “Is my husband your father?”

She nodded and stepped back so I could come inside. Behind me, I heard Marco’s footsteps on the porch. Brielle walked to her kitchen table, picked up a shoebox, and set it down in front of both of us. It was full of canceled checks, eighteen years’ worth, every one signed by Marco. She looked at him, her voice cracking. “Then explain why you paid for me my whole life, but never once came to see me.”