The letters were from Milo’s mother, Tasha. She had written to my brother when she was nineteen, telling him she was pregnant, then again after Milo was born, begging for help. He never answered. My brother had been eighteen and terrified, and then he simply chose to forget. Tasha raised Milo alone until she died of an overdose when he was fifteen. After that, Milo bounced through foster homes and ended up sleeping behind that abandoned bookstore.

Mom found the letters a month after Milo declined her proposal. She recognized Tasha’s face from the photo Milo carried in his backpack. Quietly, she arranged a DNA test using a coffee cup he left behind. When the results came back, she confronted my brother. He begged her not to tell anyone. She told him she had already changed her will, and that the truth would come out after she was gone. That was why he shouted.