Tommy despised his stepdad the moment he found out the man wasn’t his real father.
It even seemed to him that he remembered living with his mum alone before this stranger barged into their lives, forcing Tommy to call him “Dad.” But what kind of dad was he? An impostor. A liar. And Mum was one too, hiding the truth—not just any truth, but the most important one.
*”Tom, love, we meant to tell you, but the right moment never came,”* his stepdad said, crouching awkwardly in front of him. Mum perched nervously on the edge of Tommy’s bed, nodding along.
*”You lied to me,”* Tommy muttered, staring at the floor.
*”We didn’t lie—well, alright, we did, but you were tiny. Barely two when we got married, and you started calling me Dad straight away. I adopted you—made it official. We planned to tell you when you were older, but time just… slipped away.”*
*”Oh, so time was in short supply? But lying was fine? You always said lying was the worst thing. Hypocrite.”* Tommy’s throat tightened. Crying was not an option.
*”Got it. You all meant well. Gran too—chatting with the neighbour about me instead of to me. And I heard it. Now leave. I need to sleep.”*
*”Tom, we love you. I love you,”* his stepdad pressed, hand hovering uselessly in the air. Mum patted Tommy’s shoulder rhythmically, trying to catch his eye.
*”Yeah, yeah. Love you too. Can I sleep now?”*
They left, shutting the door with a soft click. Tommy buried his face in the pillow and sobbed silently.
The next morning, he studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
*”Huh. Definitely not his nose.”* He squinted sideways. *”Not even close.”*
Gran’s neighbour had been right—*”Doesn’t take after you, does he?”*—during their kitchen tea-and-gossip chat. And Gran, bless her, spilled the beans. Tommy had overheard.
The knowledge burned, like invisible ice water dumped over his head, washing away every colour. He even felt guilty for eavesdropping. Couldn’t look Gran in the eye. (Gran? Not even his real gran now. Nobody.)
He rang Mum, begging to go home early. She arrived, took one look at him, and understood. Then came *that* excruciating, unnecessary conversation.
Tommy vowed never to bring it up again. He didn’t know what to call his stepdad now, so he called him nothing at all. Visits to Gran dwindled to holidays with the parents. Life became… quiet.
He grew older, hiding in his room after school—music blaring, eyes glued to his laptop. His stepdad stayed friendly, cracking jokes but keeping his distance. Tommy was grateful.
One day, when the house was empty, Tommy carried his laptop to the kitchen.
*”Mum. Show me him.”*
*”Alright.”* She wiped her hands, pulled up a social media page in three clicks.
*”Wait—you found him that fast?”*
*”Well, yes. Social media.”*
*”So… anyone could find me like that?”*
*”I’ve never hidden you, Tom.”*
*”Mum, if he called… would you tell me?”*
*”Yes. I don’t lie.”*
*”I know. Thanks.”*
Back in his room, Tommy stared at the screen. A man grinned from the profile picture—blond, bespectacled. *Ah. So that’s where the hair came from.*
He clicked through photos: the man grinning by a car, holding a fish, hugging a woman, then hoisting a gap-toothed, fair-haired boy onto his shoulders.
*”So… that’s my brother?”*
Tommy felt nothing. Scrolling, he saw only joy. *”How’s that fair?”* He shut the laptop, gut heavy and hollow.
Later, his stepdad came home.
*”Tom! Got these mad steaks. Fancy dinner?”*
*”Not hungry. Thanks, Da—”* The door creaked open.
*”You alright? Not sick, son?”*
*”Nah, Dad. Just not peckish. Hey, bike ride tomorrow? Like old times?”*
*”Absolutely! I’ll fetch the bikes, check the tires—come if you change your mind!”*
Tommy listened as his stepdad’s booming laugh echoed from the kitchen, Mum’s teasing mixing in. He missed those dinners. Missed *them*.
Soon, Saturday bike rides and Sunday roast dinners at Gran’s resumed. She baked pies in alarming quantities, insisting Tommy sample every filling.
*”Growing lad needs fuel! Look at you, all skin and bones from that football!”*
Life trickled back to normal—mostly.
Days after Tommy’s eighteenth birthday bash, Mum shut his bedroom door firmly.
*”Tom. I promised I’d tell you. He called.”*
*”What’d he want?”*
*”Just asking how you were.”*
*”I’m fine.”*
*”That’s what I said.”*
*”Did you tell Dad?”*
*”No. Thought better of it.”*
*”Good call.”* He hugged her.
Then, one evening, Tommy spotted an unfamiliar car outside. Inside sat the man from the photos—except he wasn’t smiling.
*”Need help? Looking for someone?”* Tommy asked.
*”You’re… Tom, right? It’s you?”*
*”Yeah.”*
*”Do you know who I am?”*
*”No. But I can guess.”*
*”I’m your dad.”*
Tommy shrugged. *”My dad’s inside.”* And he walked away.
P.S. Based on real events with unreal emotions. All characters fictional—except when they’re not.