Eighteen years after my wife died, I realized my son was not my own.

After my wife died, our entire family spoiled our son rotten. We treated him like a prince.

My mom worked tirelessly for three years for the principal of the most elite high school, just so our son could get in.

My dad drove Leo to and from school every single day. One rainy morning, he slipped on the way out and shattered his spine.

On Leo’s 18th birthday, my sister, Skylar, painstakingly prepared a gift for him. But on her way there, she got into a car accident.

I answered the FaceTime call from Skylar. Her face was a bloody mess on the screen.

“Alex… I saw… I saw Seraphina…”