I stumbled with the words, even after being assured by my father.  Slowly, but as quickly as I could, I told my father about him.  The man that always sat by mother.  The one my mother forced me to call father while we were in church.  She told me that I was part of a great thing; a great thing that few young boys got to experience.

He was tall, much like my real father.  Always referred to himself as Doctor and often made me and my mother call him the same.  Everyone in church adored him.  They thought he was a great man, but I couldn't understand why my mother didn't want to wear her wedding ring around him.  She told me that he was just a family friend.  But she looked at him like she used to look at my father. 

It was our little secret; a secret that was to be kept from my real father because if I told him it would hurt him.  I was only nine and I did not want to hurt my real father.

I always knew that was why we went to church an hour and a half away; where no one knew my father.