My son Tommy never knew his father. When he was four, he drew a picture of a ship and asked me to write letters to his dad, hoping he would find us. For years, Tommy sent letters in bottles, waiting for a reply. But as he grew older, classmates mocked him, and he began to lose hope.
On his tenth birthday, just as he was ready to give up, two men appeared at our gate. One was Sam, a family friend who had pretended to be Tommy’s dad—wearing a sailor’s costume to give him hope. The other was Daniel, Tommy’s real father, who had only just discovered he had a son.
The two men clashed over who could claim the role of father, but I shut it down. Tommy deserved better than to be caught in their fight. After some time, I invited them both to meet Tommy. He listened quietly and told them he couldn’t choose, but he would watch who truly stayed and accepted him for who he is.
Sam stayed in our lives, becoming a steady presence, and Daniel remained nearby, hoping to build a relationship. Tommy made the wisest choice—claiming his own path forward, surrounded by those who truly cared.
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