After a year abroad, I came home expecting hugs and Mom’s potato soup. Instead, I found a kitchen sink clogged and dishes stacked everywhere. I offered to fix it, but Mom panicked and begged me not to.
Curious and concerned, I waited until she left and opened the pipes myself. What I found stopped me cold: a stash of cash—$30,000—and an old flip phone, hidden inside the plumbing.
When Mom came home and saw me with the money, she broke down. Turns out, she’d been hiding a painful secret: I had a half-brother, Gerard, from before she met my dad. She gave him up for adoption at five and never told anyone. Six months ago, he resurfaced, desperate and in trouble. He asked her to hide the phone and cash, then disappeared.
I tracked him down. We met at a diner. To my shock, he was an undercover cop who had infiltrated a drug ring. The money was evidence—and a bit of his own savings. When things got dangerous, he vanished to protect Mom and me.
Later that night, we all sat at the kitchen table. Tears were shed, truths were told, and the sink finally got fixed. Now, Gerard and I meet every Sunday. Turns out, having a brother is even better than street food in Bangkok.
And Mom’s soup? Still the best. Especially when it’s made for three.
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