FEMI

I was six weeks away from opening the restaurant my boyfriend, Aaron, and I had spent four years building together. Every recipe, every piece of furniture, every dollar we saved had gone into that place. We were already talking about getting married after the grand opening. One afternoon, Aaron flew to another city to meet an investor. His younger sister, Chloe, stopped by to help me organize the office upstairs. We worked until late, sharing takeout and talking about everything from childhood memories to the pressure of running a business. Before she left, she hesitated and handed me a sealed envelope. "Aaron asked me to give you this if anything ever felt... off," she said. I laughed, assuming it was some romantic surprise. After she drove away, curiosity got the better of me. Inside was a DNA test, a copy of an old birth certificate, and a handwritten note. > If you're reading this, someone has probably told you a lie I've been trying to uncover for years. My hands began to shake. The birth certificate belonged to Aaron. The man listed as his father wasn't the man who had raised him. I barely slept that night. Two days later, both of our families gathered at the restaurant for a celebration before opening day. Just as Aaron stood to thank everyone, his father interrupted him. "I can't let this continue," he said, placing another folder on the table. He looked directly at Aaron. "The man you've spent your whole life trying to impress... isn't your father." The room fell completely silent. Then his mother whispered five words that changed everything. "He already knows the truth."

Why is it that villains always have PhDs? Dr. Frankenstein. Dr. Doom. Dr. Doofenshmirtz. Meanwhile, the good guys stop at a master's degree: Master Splinter. Master Yoda. Master Yoshi. Maybe a PhD doesn't corrupt the soul... but fiction definitely seems to think it does.