Life was supposed to be simple. I’ve got a good job in IT, and Jenna’s a freelance photographer, capturing moments that seem to fly by too fast for the rest of us to catch. Our days are filled with talk about baby names, nursery colors, and arguments over whether pineapple belongs on pizza. Normal stuff.

That night, the snow was coming down hard. Jenna was curled up on the couch, rubbing her belly absentmindedly while scrolling through her phone. I was in the kitchen, making hot cocoa: Jenna’s been craving it like crazy since the pregnancy.

The soft hum of the heater filled the room, a cozy contrast to the howling wind outside.

“Babe, do you think we should go with blue or green for the nursery?” Jenna called out, her voice light but a bit tired.

“I still say yellow,” I replied, pouring cocoa into two mugs. “It’s neutral, bright… and won’t show spit-up as much.”

Jenna laughed. “You and your practical logic.”

I was about to carry the mugs over when there was a sharp knock at the door. It was unusual, especially with the weather as bad as it was. Jenna looked up, a concerned crease forming on her forehead.

“Ian, who could it be at this hour?” she asked.

“No idea,” I muttered, setting down the cocoa and heading to the door.

When I opened it, I was hit by a gust of icy wind that almost knocked me back. Standing there, shivering in the cold, was a girl who looked about 15.

Her hair was damp, sticking to her forehead, and her lips were turning blue. She wasn’t wearing a coat, just a thin, ragged sweater, and her fingers were red and raw from the cold.

“Can I have something to cover up with? A coat, a blanket, anything?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

There was something oddly familiar about her face, but I couldn’t place it. Her eyes darted around nervously, like a deer caught in headlights.

“Of course,” I said, without thinking. “Come in, come in — you’re freezing.”

She stepped inside, hesitating as if she expected me to slam the door in her face. I grabbed a blanket from the couch and handed it to her. Jenna stood up, her eyes wide with worry.

“What’s going on, Ian?” she whispered, but I just shook my head slightly. I didn’t have an answer yet.

The girl wrapped herself in the blanket, but she still looked terrified. She was avoiding eye contact, staring at her feet, her hands trembling. I tried to put her at ease.

“What’s your name?” I asked gently.

“I… I don’t want to talk about it,” she mumbled, her voice almost drowned out by the crackling of the fireplace. “Please, just don’t call the police. I don’t have an ID, and I don’t have a phone.”

That set off alarm bells in my head. Why wouldn’t she want help from the police? I glanced at Jenna. She gave me a slight nod as if to say, “Play along for now.”

“Okay, no police,” I said slowly. “But are you in some kind of trouble? Is there someone we can call for you?”

She shook her head vigorously, clutching the blanket tighter around her small frame. “No… no one.”

Jenna’s voice softened. “Sweetie, we’re not here to judge. We just want to help. But you need to tell us something. Are you running away?”

The girl’s face contorted for a second. It was like she was trying to hold back tears. “Please, I just… I need to rest. I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

Something about her was tugging at the back of my mind. That face… I’d seen it before, but where?

When she excused herself to use the bathroom, I noticed her jacket hanging by the door, half-buried under a pile of snow. It was old, frayed at the edges, and I knew I shouldn’t, but my curiosity got the better of me.

I reached into the pocket, feeling around, and my fingers brushed against a small plastic card. I pulled it out slowly, glancing toward the bathroom door to make sure she wouldn’t catch me snooping. It was an ID card, worn and slightly bent.

When I saw the name on it, a chill ran down my spine, colder than the snowstorm outside.

Jenna noticed the look on my face. “Ian, what is it?”

I stared at the ID card in my hand, my fingers trembling slightly. Kenzie Jane Rutherford. Jane… that was Dorothy’s middle name. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. The same face, the same middle name… and that last name, Rutherford. The last name of the man Dorothy left me for all those years ago.

I glanced up at Jenna, who was looking at me with concern. “Ian, what is it?” she asked again, her voice softer now.

I swallowed hard, still trying to process what was in front of me. “This girl… Kenzie… she’s Dorothy’s daughter,” I finally managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jenna’s eyes widened. “Dorothy? You mean… your high school girlfriend? The one who…”

“Yeah,” I cut in, nodding. “The one who left me for Wesley. This… this girl… Kenzie… she’s their daughter.”

Kenzie emerged from the bathroom, her face pale, her eyes wary. She noticed the ID card in my hand, and her expression shifted from fear to something almost like resignation.

“You… you found it,” she said quietly.

“Yes, I did,” I replied, my voice firmer than I felt. “Kenzie, you need to tell me the truth. Why are you here?”

She hesitated, glancing between Jenna and me. Her eyes were filled with fear and desperation. “I… I don’t know if I should…”

Jenna stepped forward, her voice gentle. “Sweetie, we’re not going to hurt you. We just need to understand what’s going on. Please, tell us.”

Kenzie took a deep breath as if steeling herself for whatever was about to come.

“Okay…” she started, her voice shaking. “My mom… Dorothy… she passed away a year ago, in a car accident. It was horrible. After she died, my… my dad, Wesley, he… he found out I wasn’t his daughter. He got a DNA test done… and when he saw the results, he just… left me. Said he couldn’t look at me anymore.”

I felt a knot forming in my stomach. “He left you? Just like that?”

Kenzie nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Yeah. He didn’t want me anymore. He sent me to an orphanage… and I had nowhere to go. But I found out about my mom’s old friend, Avril… she said my mom had another boyfriend, back when she was young. She told me it was you, Ian. And I… I didn’t know where else to go, so I… I ran away and came here.”

I took a deep breath, trying to process everything she was saying. “So, you think… you think I might be your father?”

Kenzie nodded slowly, her eyes searching mine. “I didn’t know what else to do. I thought if I came here and just asked for help… maybe you’d help me, even if I wasn’t your daughter. But I was scared to say it outright. I was afraid you’d turn me away.”

Jenna reached out, touching my arm softly. “Ian, we need to help her. Whatever the truth is, she’s just a kid.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “Kenzie, if there’s a chance… if there’s any chance you’re my daughter, we need to know for sure. We’ll go to the hospital and get a DNA test done. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Kenzie’s face softened, and she seemed to relax just a little. “Okay,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

It was a quiet ride to the hospital. I kept glancing at Kenzie in the rearview mirror, trying to make sense of how everything had changed in just a few minutes.

Dorothy was gone. The girl I once thought I’d spend my life with was dead, and now, this teenager sitting in the back seat could be my daughter.

Jenna reached over, squeezing my hand. “You okay?”

I nodded, but I wasn’t sure. “I don’t know, Jenna. I just… I can’t believe this. I didn’t even know she had a kid.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Jenna asked, glancing back at Kenzie.

Kenzie shook her head. “No… Mom never talked about you. She… she seemed sad sometimes, like there was something she wanted to say but couldn’t.”

We reached the hospital, and the DNA test was a blur of sterile rooms and paperwork. Kenzie was nervous, and so was I, but Jenna stayed calm, guiding us through the process. Finally, they took the samples, and we were told it would be a few hours before we had the results. We decided to wait in the hospital’s small café.

Kenzie picked at a muffin, her fingers still trembling slightly. “So… what was she like? My mom, when you knew her?”

I smiled, memories flooding back. “Dorothy was… she was something else. She had this laugh that could fill up a room, and she loved to dance, even when there was no music. We were kids, but I thought I was gonna marry her.”

Kenzie looked down, a small smile playing on her lips. “She taught me how to dance when I was little.”

Jenna leaned in. “She sounds like she was a wonderful person.”

Kenzie nodded. “She was. But… she made mistakes. Big ones. Like trusting Wesley… he’s been planning to sell our old house now that she’s gone, like she never existed.”

I clenched my fists, anger boiling up inside me. “I wish I’d known. I would have done something.”

The nurse came in, holding a folder. “Mr. Abrams? We have the results.”

My heart pounded as I opened it. I read the words slowly, twice, just to make sure I wasn’t imagining them. “Positive. 99.9% probability of paternity.”

My breath caught in my throat, and tears blurred my vision. “Kenzie… you’re my daughter,” I whispered.

Kenzie’s face broke into a smile, and then she was in my arms, holding me tight. I felt the weight of 15 lost years crashing down on me, but I also felt a strange sense of relief.

“I’m so sorry,” I choked out. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

Kenzie pulled back, shaking her head. “No, you didn’t know. You couldn’t have known. You don’t need to apologize.”

Jenna wiped a tear from her cheek. “What now?” she asked softly.

I looked at Kenzie, and for the first time, I felt a smile break through. “Kenzie… how do you feel about pizza?”

Kenzie laughed, and it was like a light turned on in the room. “I think that sounds perfect, Dad.”

And just like that, we walked out into the cold, but for the first time, I felt warm.

If this story tugged at your heartstrings, here’s another one you might like even more: Agatha’s quiet life is disrupted when a mysterious woman arrives at her nursing home with a startling claim. As memories resurface, Agatha finds herself drawn into an emotional journey filled with surprising revelations and an offer that could change her life forever.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.