I Came to Thank the Man Who Raised Me—But Left in Tears After Hearing the Truth

Two years ago, cancer took my mother.

Gary and I didn’t grow closer, not in the way some would expect. We didn’t cry in each other’s arms or start new traditions. But he was there. He showed up at the funeral in a suit too tight at the shoulders, carrying the weight of grief in silence. Afterward, we spoke occasionally—birthdays, holidays, quiet check-ins.

And while the bond never deepened, I believed it was real. He had stayed. He had done the work. I owed him thanks.

The Card, the Book, the Lemon Bars

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