“Tell her I said thanks,” I said, and meant it, surprised at how easily that particular kindness landed.
“So now you’re really my brother,” he said, halfway through said milkshake. “Not step. Real.”
“I was always your brother,” I said. “This just makes the paperwork match how it already felt.”
Lily nodded solemnly, the way only a ten-year-old delivering serious wisdom can manage.
“That’s what I said at the driveway thing,” she reminded everyone. “Nobody ever listens to me first.”
“Duly noted,” Marcus said, ruffling her hair. “From now on, Lily speaks first at every family meeting.”
“Finally,” she said, entirely satisfied with that outcome.
I called my biological father that same evening, mostly out of some obligation I couldn’t fully explain even to myself, some leftover instinct about closing loops properly.
I sat on the front porch steps while I dialed, the same porch railing Marcus had once stood beside, phone warm against my ear as it rang twice before he picked up.
