My breath caught in my throat as I read that first line again.

“Your father lost control of the car while trying to speed away. I tried to follow, to make things right, but it all happened too fast. The car flipped. By the time I reached you, it was already too late for them.”

My chest tightened painfully.

“I pulled you out myself. You were unconscious, barely breathing. I kept telling you to stay with me, over and over again.”

I covered my mouth, tears now streaming down my face.

“All these years, I let you believe it was just some random tragedy. Because the truth… the truth is I’ve never forgiven myself. If we hadn’t argued, if I hadn’t chased them, maybe they would have slowed down. Maybe they’d still be alive.”

I shook my head, whispering, “No… no…” as if he could hear me.

“But that’s not the only thing I’ve hidden from you.”

My hands tightened around the paper. I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep going—but I couldn’t stop.

“The doctors told me something back then. Something I chose not to tell you.”

My heart skipped.

“They said your injury might not be permanent.”

The words hit me like a shockwave.

“They believed that with time, therapy, and the right treatment, you might regain movement in your legs.”

The paper slipped slightly in my hands.

“But I was afraid.”

I stared at the sentence, my mind racing.

“I was afraid of giving you hope and watching it break. Afraid you’d go through years of painful treatment with no guarantee. Afraid I’d lose you too… not physically, but emotionally.”

Tears dripped onto the page, blurring the ink.

“So I made a decision. A selfish one. I let you believe your condition was permanent. I told myself it was to protect you from disappointment, from pain. But deep down, I know I was also protecting myself.”

My breathing became uneven.