When Mom abruptly canceled our weekly Sunday dinner with a cold text, my brother Brian and I knew something was wrong. She’d never once canceled in three years since Dad died. We rushed to her house, only to find a stranger at the kitchen table wearing the exact shirt I once gave Dad. When he turned, my heart nearly stopped — he looked exactly like our father.

Mom, tears streaming down her face, revealed the truth: the man was James, Dad’s twin brother we never knew existed. She admitted she had once loved James, but he abandoned her, and Dad had been the one to stay and build a family. Dad had forbidden her from ever mentioning James again, and for 30 years, the secret stayed buried. Now James had shown up, asking for a second chance.

Brian exploded with anger, reminding James that Dad had been the one who loved and raised us. James apologized and quietly left, removing Dad’s old shirt as if surrendering a piece of the past he didn’t deserve. Mom collapsed, sobbing that she’d done a terrible thing by hiding the truth from us and betraying Dad’s memory with her silence.

I held her hand and told her she gave us the best childhood we could’ve asked for. “You loved Dad, and we know that,” I said. That night, we stayed with her, ordering pizza instead of her famous roast chicken. Before bed, Mom texted the family group chat: “Dinner next Sunday. 6 p.m. Bring tupperware. And maybe a hug.”