An immediate account freeze pending litigation.

Thomas tried to say he was my father.

The attorney remained professionally neutral.

One year later, the Hensley Oncology Lab filled a sunlit wing of the university research center. Sequencing equipment hummed along the walls. My name and title were stitched above the pocket of my lab coat and displayed in steel letters behind the reception desk.

A photo of my mother sat in a silver frame on my desk because I chose to keep her there.

One afternoon, my lead graduate assistant, Sarah, knocked and told me a man in the lobby claimed to be my father and wanted two minutes.

I went out.

Thomas looked older, thinner, weakened by the loss of every structure he had hidden behind.

He asked for a recommendation letter.

An introduction to Elias Thorne.

Help.

He was losing his apartment.

I stood a few feet away and searched for anger.

There was less than I expected.

“I’m sorry, Thomas,” I said.

His face shifted when I used his first name.

“You told me to step aside,” I said. “You told me to let the real achievers have their moment.”

I let the words settle between us.

“I took that advice seriously.”

Then I turned and walked back through the glass doors of my laboratory.

He did not follow.

Security handled the rest.

Back at my desk, I picked up my mother’s photograph.

I kept the house.

I kept the work.

I built what you would have wanted to see.

Then my secure phone rang.