I remember hearing that story for the first time “1 in 5 men unknowingly raise a child that isn’t theirs.” I thought it was almost a funny story, I remember thinking, ‘how can they not know?’

For some reason that story would pop up occasionally in my train of thought, I became more and more interested in it. I found myself staring at groups of strangers, looking for signs that might indicate a father and child didn’t quite go together.

I started treating it like a game, a game I was quite good at, I’m afraid to say I got a little obsessed. Researching different clues and giveaways, genetic traits and quirks. In all that time I never saw my family the way I began to see other peoples. Not once did I pause by the portrait near the front door and really look at it.

It caught my eye as I got home today, and for the first time I saw my family…wasn’t my family.