diego davenport | seven | fin cb

He sends money every year for the holidays and for my birthday. It's most likely hush money for my mom, anything the keep her from marching over to the beautiful house he has on the other side of the district and having a conversation with his wife about the secrets he'd kept from her.

Honestly, I couldn't care much less. At the very least, I can say he remembers my birthday every year, or at least his secretary or someone does. Mom told me he used to be a peacekeeper, lost a leg and retired young, settled in with a rich girl and had a handsome son.

I have my mom and she has me, but the one thing about the story that I have always wondered about- the handsome son. A father might not have been in the cards for me, but I have always loved the idea of having a brother. Word on the street is that he's attending the peacekeeper training academy, so I signed up for it expecting to find him, and I am supposed to start classes in exactly two weeks.

I'm nervous, and I've kept the truth from my mother, which is something I am admittedly used to. Mothers don't need to hear about marijuana experiences and keg stand records. And if she finds out, she finds out. Truth is, I'm excited to meet him, and now that I have perked up the courage, nothing is going to stop me from doing just that.