I was confused but agreed to meet her the next day. When she arrived, her hands trembled as she held her coffee. “There’s no easy way to say this,” she began.
“But you and I… we met once. A long time ago. It was brief.
I stared at her, heart pounding.
“What are you saying?”
She swallowed hard. “Jacob isn’t just marrying my daughter. There’s a chance… a real chance… he might be her half-brother.”
The room spun.
She pulled out a faded photo—one I barely remembered being in—and a date that matched up with my college years. She wasn’t making this up. She wasn’t asking for money or drama.
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