And I hope, somehow, you found your way to us.
—Charlotte”
My hands trembled. Tears blurred my vision.
I looked up at Mia. All nine of them were watching me.
Then it clicked.
“You knew?” I asked.
She nodded. “We figured it out from the letters. But we didn’t know how to tell you.”
I looked at her differently now—the way she carried herself, the way she sometimes looked at me. It all made sense.
I pulled her into a tight hug.
“I don’t need a DNA test.”
She laughed softly. “I know.”
I called the others in, and we all embraced.
“You’re all my daughters,” I said. “That doesn’t change anything.”
And it didn’t.
Later, I folded Charlotte’s letter and placed it on the table.
Mia wiped her tears. “I thought you’d be more shocked.”
“I am,” I said. “But I don’t feel lost.”
That surprised them.
Nelly asked, “You’re not upset?”
“No. I’ve spent enough time being upset about things I didn’t understand.”
We sat together at the kitchen table.
“At the end of the day,” I said, “nothing important has changed.”
They looked at me, confused.
“I raised nine daughters because I wanted to—not because I had to. Finding out one of you is biologically mine doesn’t change anything. It just explains why it always felt right.”
Mia smiled. “Dad, you’re the best.”
The tension in the room finally lifted.
