I always thought my dad was, well, my dad. The guy who raised me taught me how to ride a bike, yelled from the sidelines at my soccer games, and grounded me when I snuck out too late. He was my rock – quiet, dependable, and the kind of father everyone in our neighbourhood respected. Growing up, our house felt like the perfect bubble. Mom was warm and always pushing me to do my best, Dad worked diligently and kept things steady, and we had those classic family dinners full of laughs and the occasional eye-roll from me as a teenager.
I never doubted a thing. Family meant unbreakable trust, right? No big secrets lurking in the closet. But then I hit college, and little things started bugging me. Old stories didn’t quite match up, some paperwork seemed off, and I noticed I didn’t look much like my cousins or share those quirky family traits everyone else had. At first, I brushed it aside – families are messy, histories get fuzzy, no big deal. But that little voice in my head wouldn’t shut up: “What if he’s not your biological father?”
Those doubts crept in slowly, making me feel like an outsider in my own life. Like I’d been starring in someone else’s family movie without realising it. One day, the truth hit, and everything I thought I knew about my world came crashing down. Read more. https://drbokko.com/?p=35315