For a second neither of us moved.
Then he exhaled slowly.
“You weren’t supposed to recognize me,” he said quietly.
My knees felt weak.
“But since you did… you deserve the truth.”
“What truth?” I whispered.
His voice cracked.
“That fire thirty years ago… it wasn’t an accident.”
I stepped aside and opened the door wider.
“Come in.”
We sat at my kitchen table like two strangers connected by a secret neither of us fully understood.
I poured coffee out of habit, though my hands were shaking.
“Start from the beginning,” I said.
He stared at his hands for a long moment before speaking.
“My mother controlled everything after the fire,” he said. “The reports. The story about the fireplace. Even the dental records.”
My heart pounded.
“You’re saying they faked your death?”
He nodded slowly.
“There was a fire. And I was there. But the body they identified… it wasn’t mine.”
The room felt smaller.
“They wanted me away from you,” he continued quietly. “They said you were beneath our family.”
I shook my head in disbelief.
“There was a body, Gabe.”
“Yes,” he said. “But the records were manipulated. My parents had the power to make that happen.”
I stared at him.
“You let me believe you were dead.”
His voice softened.
“I didn’t know who you were for a long time.”
He rubbed the scar on his arm.
“After the fire I had severe smoke inhalation and burns. The doctors said I developed post-traumatic amnesia. My memory was shattered.”
Fragments returned slowly over the years.
My laugh.
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