there was someone else. Someone I loved, but it didn’t work out.”

Turns out, I had a half-brother. His name was Jonah.

“He was only a few years older than you,” Mom whispered. “But his father—Gavin—left when Jonah was just a baby. I thought I’d never hear from either of them again. Then that Christmas, the Gameboy showed up.”

She never told Dad, thinking it would bring up too much pain.

“But your father found out eventually,” she added, “and he told me it didn’t matter. He loved you both.”

I couldn’t believe it. I had lived 29 years thinking I was an only child.

And now, out of nowhere, I had a brother. Somewhere.

Mom handed me an envelope. Inside was a photo—faded and wrinkled—with two boys sitting on a park bench. One was clearly me, chubby-cheeked and grinning. The other