My half-brother lived right down the street, and I never knew it until now. 

It would have been nice to have an older brother throughout my childhood, someone to help with the mental abuse my father brought into our home. He and my mother argued constantly. I spent a lot of time in my room hiding and waiting for my mom to come in, asking if I was alright as I drowned out the sadness I felt from hearing the two people I loved more than anything show so much hatred towards each other. When I was 11 years old, my father decided the best way he could hurt my mother was to share with me a secret she wasn’t ready to tell: when my mother was a freshman in high school, she had given birth to a child. My half-brother, 13 years older than me, was adopted and raised right down the street. He became the secret that put a barrier between my mother and me and haunted my curiosity for the next five years.

This information weighed heavily on me. A part of me wished I never knew. I couldn’t talk to anyone about this. I didn’t trust my dad; in fact, for a long time I questioned if he had even told me the truth about having a half-brother. I couldn’t talk to my friends; they could tell someone. I couldn’t tell my mom; she would be heartbroken. My father told me I had a half-brother at a time of my life when he knew it would eat away at me the most, and it did. I went through all of middle school and most of high school questioning the identity of this stranger who I was connected to by blood. The summer before my freshman year, my mother and father finally divorced. A few months after the divorce was finalized, my mom started dating a new man. About a year later, my mom ultimately ended up marrying him. Although I didn’t know it at the time, she had married the father of my half-brother.

At the beginning of my senior year, my mom and stepdad sat me down and both shared their secret: my mom gave birth to a son in high school, and my stepdad was the father. As they broke the news of having a child, I broke the news of already knowing. The exposure of our secrets brought sadness, anger, and closure to my family. My mother was heartbroken and my stepdad was enraged that my father had told me their secret, but when they told me themselves, the unspoken distance I felt between my mom and me disappeared. 

I eventually met my half-brother, and he looks exactly like my mom and stepdad. However, I unknowingly met him for the first time years ago. I was too young to remember, but I apparently used to spend time with my half-brother and his adopted family. When I met with them again recently, they told me stories and showed me toys I used to play with; I had no clue. I had expected this meeting to be emotional, but when we were together, it felt like I had known these people all my life. We spent hours talking, getting to re-know each other. My half-brother gave me “big brother” advice about other situations in my life. The more we talked, the more I fell in love with him. I went from being an only child to having a half-brother in the blink of an eye, something that seems to happen only in movies. 

I spent years wanting to know who I am, who I'm connected to. Since I met my half-brother, my identity is so clear now. As we interact, I see myself in him. Reuniting with him has allowed me to become the best version of myself, someone who is confident and finally complete.