“Do you remember the lake near our old house?” Daniel asked, his eyes distant as if looking back in time. “We used to play there all the time.”
His question sent a shiver down my spine. I had no memory of such a place, no recollection of the moments he described. “What do you mean?” I asked, my voice tinged with confusion. “We never lived together. I’ve always known I was an only child.”
Daniel’s smile faded, replaced by a somber expression. “Billy, we lived together until we were very young. I remember the fire… I remember how everything changed. Don’t you remember the night of the fire that took our parents?”
His words were like shards of glass, cutting through the safe narrative of my past. I recalled vague references to a tragic fire, something my adoptive parents had once alluded to in hushed tones, but I had never pieced together the full story. “Fire?” I repeated, struggling to understand. “My dad said you were the result of an affair… that I was adopted.”
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