We were just a week away from the wedding I’d waited two years for, but that night, everything changed. I found Wade in the garage, sobbing over a red child’s jacket. “It’s his,” he whispered, breaking down in front of me. What followed unraveled a story I never saw coming.
He spoke of a little brother named Adam—lost in a river, buried in silence, forgotten by family. The grief felt raw, too vivid to question. But when I visited his mother, she looked me dead in the eye. “Wade never had a brother,” she said.
