My father—the man who always prized honesty—had chosen to lie to protect me. It wasn’t perfect. It unsettled me.
But it gave me the space I needed to deliver my son safely, free from immediate legal battles. I still wrestle with mixed feelings about it. Part of me wishes he had been truthful from the start.
Part of me understands why he did it. What I do know is this: sometimes love isn’t clean or tidy. Sometimes it looks like a father shouldering your anger so you don’t have to carry it while you’re carrying a child.
