My Biological Father Left Us When I Was Three – Then Reappeared on My 17th Birthday to Outshine My Stepdad With His Present - Page 6

Some were 20.

One was five.

And one was nothing.

But there wasn't a single month Ray hadn't written something.

At the bottom was a folded piece of paper.

Not a bank statement, a note.

I opened it.

"Kid,"

"It isn't enough yet."

"We'll keep going."

"Ray."

That was it.

A short note carrying more weight than Ray probably realized.

It was the best birthday present I'd ever gotten.

Three hours later, somebody knocked on our front door.

Mom answered.

I was in the kitchen.

I heard her say, "What are you doing here?"

Then a man's voice answered.

"I came to see my son."

I froze.

Ray came out of the garage.

Mom looked at me before stepping aside.

The man standing on our porch was taller than I expected.

Nice jacket.

Expensive watch.

Gray beginning at his temples.

I knew him immediately anyway.

There were three old photographs of him in a box in Mom's closet.