I could hardly process the flood of emotions coursing through me. Anger, confusion, but also a strange sense of understanding. The man who had been so quietly generous, who appeared every Sunday like clockwork, was my own flesh and blood.

“But why didn’t he say anything?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“He must have known it would be complicated,” my mom replied softly. “Perhaps he thought his actions could say more than words ever could.”