"I think it's about time that I've told you…" his voice trailed off. He came and sat on the couch across from me. His eyes focused on mine.

"Told me what?" I asked. "Is it bad?"

He slowly shook his head. "Not necessarily…" He almost looked up at me as if he was going to say something, but didn't.

"If it's not bad… then shouldn't you say it without hesitating?"

He looked up at me again and this time he began to speak. "Well…" He began to tell me how I'm not his only child. How my mom had a fling with him, which she gave birth to a boy and another fling two years later, which she gave birth to me. Also, how my mom didn't want a boy. And how she gave him away.

"I have a brother?" I said softly. My dad had finished minutes ago, but I was unable to speak. "And you're just now telling me?" my voice was beginning to crack. I was on the verge of crying. Tears were beginning to form.

"I didn't think–"

"I was old enough? That I was too young to know that I had a brother?" I said quietly. He stared at me, struggling to find the right words. But the truth is, is that there are no right words. He knows that and I know that. I put my face in the palm of my hands, trying to keep myself from crying.

"I wanted to tell you when you got older. When you got more mature." He sighed as I heard him stand up. I heard him moving around, but I didn't look up. "Here," he said. I lifted my head. He was holding out a manila folder. He jerked his head toward it. "Take it."

I took it from him and began to open it. "What is it?" I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater.

"Just open it." Inside was a bunch of papers. I put my hand inside and took out one. It was a photograph of a boy. He looked about a year or two older than me. Black hair covered his left eye. His right eye was a beautiful green. No emotion showed on his face.

"Who is this?"

"Your brother."