My son Josh had always been full of light until one day, he wasn’t. His laughter faded, his eyes dimmed, and he kept shutting me out. I told myself it was just growing pains, maybe school stress. But deep down, I knew something was truly wrong.

Dinner talks turned into silence, and jokes didn’t land like they used to. He flinched at my touch and hid behind closed doors. Desperate to reconnect, I tried everything movies, old LEGO sets, even late-night ice cream runs. Still, I couldn’t reach him.

Then one Saturday, I found his diary by accident while tidying his room. What I read shattered me: Josh had overheard that I wasn’t his biological father. His words were raw afraid I’d stop loving him, afraid he’d lose me. It broke me. But more than that, it moved me.

I sat him down, held him, and told him the truth he needed to hear: nothing could ever change that he is my son. I chose him then, and I choose him still. When given the choice at 13, he chose me too. Not because of DNA but because love chose us first.