Dear reader, I wish I could tell you that it ends well.

My name's Evan. You probably don't know much about me, other than the fact that I was with Thomas. We had two boys together: Lincoln and Jacob. Now, you might be thinking "what about Racetrack?" and that has a very simple answer.

I'm never going to accept him as my son.

Him and his delinquent friends decided to just show up and attack our family, all because of a fight we had. Of course, he made sure the kids weren't involved, but he probably would have attacked them too if he wasn't in his right mind.

It took a few days for us to get over the whole event, or, well, for them to get over it. I never did. But that's beside the point. What really matters is what happened when he returned.

You probably know how this part goes. We take him back and he becomes one of our own. Happy ending, right?

NOPE.

The little twerp, Race, had to go to therapy because of what he did, and from other things that traumatized him. That's when our cash started running out.

We were close to the bare minimum by then. It would've been so much easier if we just got rid of him, threw him back into the streets where he belonged, but Thomas "believed in him".

Our perfect relationship turned a bit rocky. Arguments started to arise, and they soon became almost expected. Everything had gone to shit.

So I left. I left my family for good. They think I'm dead, that I got run over by a truck. Even got one of my doctor friends to call them and tell them the "bad news". Maybe that got them out of their trance. So they would finally rid of him.

I guess I wouldn't know, though. It's been a year since everything happened. I've actually started to consider going back. Thanks for reading nonetheless.

Sincerely, me.