I confronted Nikolas. He hesitated, stumbled over his explanation, then finally admitted the truth: he had secretly placed the photo there.
And then came the revelation he had been hiding—he was my half-brother. My father had led a second life in this town, a life I had known nothing about until now.
Nikolas explained their mother had once had a brief relationship with my dad. Though it ended out of guilt, my father returned often not just for the view, but to quietly be a part of Nikolas’s life.
My dad had kept this part of himself hidden from me and my mother, and while I sat stunned by the betrayal, Nikolas shared how deeply our father had spoken about me. “He always said you were his heart,” he said. I didn’t know whether to feel honored or hurt maybe both.
In the end, I chose not to tell my mother. Let her keep the version of him she loved. But I stayed in touch with Nikolas. He wasn’t to blame.
The beach house, once a place of secrets, became a space of connection. Two strangers siblings sitting by the ocean, sharing grief, truth, and the strange bond of being raised by the same man, in two very different worlds.
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