Tommy loathed his stepfather the moment he discovered the man wasn’t his real dad.
It even seemed like he could remember those early days when it was just him and Mum—before this stranger appeared in their lives, the man he was forced to call Dad. But what kind of father was he? A fraud. A liar. And Mum was no better, keeping the truth from him—not just any truth, but the most important one.
“Tom, love, you have to understand… We meant to tell you, but the right moment never came…”
His stepdad crouched in front of him while Mum perched on the edge of his bed, nodding silently.
“You lied to me,” Tommy muttered, staring at the floor.
“We didn’t lie… well, I suppose we did… But you were so little when Mum and I married—not even two. You started calling me Dad straight away, and I adopted you properly. We always planned to tell you when you were older, but the timing never felt right…”
“The timing was never right? But lying was fine?” Tommy’s throat tightened. He couldn’t cry—not now. “You always said honesty matters. And then you lied.”
“I get it. You all thought you were doing the right thing. Gran too—talking about me with the neighbour instead of telling me herself… And I overheard. Just go. I want to sleep.”
“Tom, we love you. I love you. You hear me?” His stepfather reached out but stopped short of touching him. Mum stroked his shoulder, trying to catch his eye.
“Got it. Love you too… Can I just sleep?”
They left quietly, shutting the door behind them. The second they were gone, Tommy buried his face in the pillow and let the tears come—silent, shuddering.
The next morning, he studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
“Right… definitely not him.” He turned to check his profile, squinting. “Nose is all wrong.”
Gran’s neighbour had been right—he didn’t resemble them.
“Who’s the lad take after, then? Doesn’t look like your lot,” she’d said over tea. And Gran had let slip… while Tommy accidentally eavesdropped.
The truth burned—like invisible ice water dumped over him, washing away every colour. He even felt ashamed for overhearing, for knowing. He couldn’t look Gran in the eye. (Gran? If she wasn’t his real gran, then who was she? No one.)
He rang Mum, asking to go home early. One glance at his face told her everything.
Then came that awful, unnecessary conversation at home…
Tommy decided never to bring it up again. He couldn’t figure out what to call his stepdad now, so he avoided calling him anything. Visits to Gran became rare—just holidays with his parents.
Life settled into silence.
Tommy grew older, spending more time with friends or at football practice. He’d come home from school, shut himself in his room, and blast music or stare at his laptop.
His stepdad still joked around, still kept his distance—and Tommy was grateful for that.
One evening, when his stepfather was out, Tommy carried his laptop to the kitchen.
“Mum, show me. You can, can’t you?”
“I can.”
She wiped her hands, pulled his laptop closer, and in a few clicks pulled up a social media profile.
“There. Look.”
“Wait… you found him that fast?”
“Course. Social media, Tom.”
“So anyone could find you like that? Or me?”
“I’ve never hidden. Never hidden you either.”
“Mum, if he called—would you tell me?”
“I would. Promise. No lies.”
“Believe you. Thanks.”
Back in his room, Tommy finally looked at the screen.
A fair-haired man in glasses smiled from the profile picture. So that’s where Tommy got his blond hair—Mum and his stepdad were both dark.
He clicked through the photos—the man grinning by a car, holding up a fish in a boat, hugging some woman, then hoisting a gap-toothed blond boy onto his shoulders.
“Suppose that’s my brother?”
Tommy felt nothing.
The man in every photo looked happy.
“And that’s allowed?” Tommy cut the thought short and snapped the laptop shut. His stomach twisted—heavy yet hollow.
Leaning against the wall, eyes closed, he barely noticed when his stepdad returned.
The door creaked open, light spilling in.
“Tom, got these amazing steaks… Fancy dinner?”
“Not hungry… Cheers, Da—”
The door opened wider.
“You alright, son? Not sick?”
“Nah, Dad… Just not hungry.” He paused. “Could we cycle in the park tomorrow? Like before?”
“Absolutely, son!” His stepdad grinned, stepping fully inside. “I’ll fetch the bikes from the garage, check the tyres… We’ll go! If you change your mind about dinner, just follow the smell—steak and onions!”
“Alright, Dad… Thanks.”
The door clicked shut. Tommy stayed where he was, listening to his father’s deep laugh drift from the kitchen, Mum’s playful scolding—”Oh, stop exaggerating!”
He missed those silly dinner chats. Missed all of it.
Soon, Saturday bike rides resumed. Sunday visits to Gran for her legendary pies—”A growing lad needs proper food! Look at you, wasting away with all that football!”
Life slipped back into rhythm, flowing easily, though occasionally stumbling over stones…
Days after Tommy’s eighteenth birthday bash, Mum shut his bedroom door firmly behind her.
“Tom, I promised I’d tell you. He called. You know who.”
“What did he want?”
“Just wondered how you were.”
“I’m fine.”
“I said as much. He asked if you knew… Told him you did.”
“Right, Mum. Don’t tell Dad, yeah? No need to upset him. This is our business.”
“Had the same thought.”
“You alright?” Tommy hugged her.
Days later, a strange car idled outside. Inside sat the man from the photos—but unsmiling, watching passers-by like he was waiting.
Tommy walked past, then turned back.
“Need help? Looking for someone?”
The man blinked. “Tom? It is you, yeah?”
“Tommy. Spot on.”
“You… know who I am?”
“No. But I reckon I can guess.”
“I’m your dad.”
“My dad’s at home,” Tommy said calmly, and walked away.
P.S. Inspired by real events, though the feelings are all too real. Any resemblance is intentional.