A letter from my late mother on my eighteenth birthday told me a truth that would forever alter my life: Stephen, the man I knew as my stepfather, was really my biological father.
This insight sparked an experience of connecting and forgiveness that would strengthen our relationship in ways I never would have predicted.
Stephen had been more than a stepfather to me as a child. He served as my compass in a world that seemed abruptly empty and strange when my mother died when.
I was only eleven years old. There was a lot of sadness and stillness in our house, and Stephen and I both struggled with the huge hole Kate left behind.
Being a new dad, he wasn’t sure how to console me as a small child grieving over such a significant loss. I didn’t make it simple for him at first.
I felt a mixture of loss and rage, and Stephen unintentionally became the object of my suffering. But in spite of my tantrums and annoyance,
