It was a folded stack of old papers, yellowed at the edges and tied with a faded ribbon. “They were hidden in his backpack,” Amelia said, her voice tight. “Letters. Documents.” The first page wasn’t a letter. It was a copy of Leo’s birth certificate. Under Father was a name I didn’t recognize—listed as alive.
Beneath it were court records, restraining orders, and a barely readable newspaper clipping. A man wanted for armed robbery twelve years ago. Presumed dead. Leo’s biological father. Amelia whispered, “What if it’s genetic?”