Things I've never done that Delilah has: Volunteer at a soup kitchen. Delilah was shocked to hear that I've never volunteered in anything. I told her I never really liked going to the city. That it's too crowded and loud and there are serial killers and rapists around every corner. Of course, she laughed at me and told me this city is nothing like the movies. So now I'm volunteering in Denver in a soup kitchen with Delilah and I see why she likes it so much.

There are two lines, one for me and one for her, and not a single soul is in my line. I'm not upset by it. I mean when you look at her and you look at me, it was like she was made to do this. She's asking everyone their names, she's cracking jokes, making people smile. Her hair is under a red beanie and she's wearing a blue sweater that has an ugly skull on it with her gold cross necklace dangling out. And that smile—God that smile.

Why are we volunteering at a soup kitchen? Well through Squid's investigation, we've discovered the parent that gave Delilah away was a homeless female under no name in Denver. Lucy found us the most popular soup kitchen to look for anyone who might resemble Delilah. It's been two weeks and so far we haven't found anyone that comes close to resembling Delilah.

"Is this line closed?" A woman asks.

I take my attention off Delilah and to the woman behind the counter. And wow, she's probably one of the most gorgeous women I've ever seen. Even though her brown hair is matted and her clothes are discolored and dirty. Her light brown eyes pierce into my soul.

"No," I say, "Everyone just prefers her."

"Men know what they want," she says, grabbing a bowl from a stack of them to her left, "What's for dinner?"

"Beef stew! It's pretty good actually."

She hands me her bowl and I spoon in two ladles of stew. I hand the bowl back to her.

"When are you gonna stop staring at her and say something?" She asks.

"Oh! Her? We're already dating."

"That's not what I'm talking about," she says, sipping a little bit of her stew.

"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"Well you're here for me, aren't you?" She asks.

She then smiles. And the dimples. The number of teeth showing. There's no way this isn't Delilah's mother.

"Come talk with me," She says, making her way to a booth at the far end of the table. I set everything down and follow her to the booth. I take a seat across from her and she's stirring her stew with a spoon.

"So you're Delilah's mom?" I ask.

"Is that her name?" she asks.

"Yeah. It is. How did you know we were here?"

"Word gets around. An absolutely gorgeous woman starts volunteering at a soup kitchen. It gets all my boys riled up."

I want to ask her more. But those are questions only Delilah should get to ask.

"You seem pretty young to be Delilah's mom," I say.

"I had her when I was sixteen," she says.

"Delilah's sixteen. So that makes you thirty-two?"

She nods, "I was in an—abusive—relationship when I had Delilah. I was definitely not ready to be a mother."

Delilah then comes over and sits down next to me.

"Hello," she says extending her hand to the woman, "I'm Delilah. My friends call me D."

The woman shakes her hand, "Jaclynne. You can call me Jac."

"So everyone's fed!" Delilah says to me, "We'll just have to wait for the dishes. Does this young woman know about my mother?"

"Well—um—D—I think this woman is your mother," I say. Delilah scrunches her eyebrows.

"Dude, she's like twenty-three," Delilah whispers, pointing her thumb at Jaclynne.

"Thirty-two actually. She says she had you when she was sixteen."

Delilah turns to Jaclynne, her eyes squinting.

"Who's your favorite artist?" Delilah asks.

"Robert Johnson," Jaclynne answers.

"You sing? Play guitar?"

"No. I'm more of a drawer."

"Hmmmmm..."

Delilah leans into my ear, "How do we know she's not faking it mooch off of me?" she whispers.

"You have a birthmark on the left side of your upper neck. It kinda looks like Australia," Jaclynne says.

Delilah turns her neck towards me and I lift her hair up. Sure enough, there's a darker patch of skin about the size of a quarter that looks like a tiny Australia behind her neck.

"That's a tiny Australia," I say. Delilah pulls away and her eyes lock with Jaclynne's.

"Mom..." Delilah says.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Jaclynne says, tears welling up in her eyes. They both stand out of their seats in unison and hug in the aisle. It brings a smile to my face and a tear to my eye. They're both crying and holding each other and the rest of the people around us cheer. When Delilah and Jaclynne break away from each other they sit down.

"I'm sort of the leader here," Jaclynne says, "That's why you've been getting all the attention."

Delilah huffs out a laugh, wiping a tear from her eye.

"I'm—I'm really sorry I abandoned you," Jaclynne starts "But I had no other choice. Your Dad. He wasn't a good man. He drank a lot. And he hit me sometimes. Sometimes became all the time. And one night—he—he raped me. I ran away from him that night and figured out a few weeks later that I was pregnant."

Delilah's eyes lower to the table, "I'm a rape baby..." she murmurs, her voice defeated. I grab her right hand and she squeezes mine.

"I thought about getting an abortion," Jaclynne continues, "I wrote it down on the calendar. Just like another thing to do. But that box never got checked off and now you're sitting here right in front of me."

Delilah grabs the hand I'm holding with her other.

"When it came time for your birth, I was homeless," Jaclynne says, "So I couldn't keep you. But when you came out, I wasn't done."

"You don't mean—" Delilah leans into the table.

"Delilah, you have a twin brother," Jaclynne says, "His name is Adam. He's currently in a home for the physically and mentally disabled."

Delilah's mouth drops. She leans back in the booth I can see a million thoughts running through her just by looking at her expression.

"I know I've just dropped a lot on you," Jacylnne says, "But I really thought I would never have this conversation with you. I thought you had the right to know."

"I—I—I have a twin brother," Delilah breathes, "All this time I thought I was alone. I thought I was the only one out there. But I have a brother!"

"I can give you the address for you to visit him if you'd like," Jaclynne says.

"Please do. I would love to see him." Delilah says.

"Robert!" Jaclynne calls out. A man missing a piece of his lower jaw with a notebook tied around his neck gets out of his chair and runs towards us. Once he's arrived, Jaclynne rips a piece of paper out and pulls a pen out of Robert's pocket. She then begins to write on it.

"Can you give us a moment?" Delilah asks me.

"Of course," I say. Delilah steps out of the booth and I slide out and step outside. I watch through the window and see Delilah talking to Jaclynne while Robert is going back to his seat.

"I hope this is what she wants," I say aloud.

"It may not be what she wants, but it can be what she needs," Jesus says, standing beside me.

"She's a rape baby, Jesus. Imagine knowing that you exist because something horrible was done."

"That can be a challenge. It would be hard to not let that define you. Do you think that defines her, Judas?"

"No! What? Of course not. Delilah is so much more than where she came from."

"Then don't let that define her for you. She is more than her parent's actions, is she not?"

I see Delilah stand up and hug Jaclynne again.

"She's more than anything I could possibly imagine," I say.

Delilah comes out with the piece of paper in hand.

"Ready?" I ask.

"I am," she says, "Let's go see my brother."

Adam is about a fifteen-minute drive away from the soup kitchen. When we arrive, there are only four cars in the parking lot. The building itself looks like a normal two-story house with a sign that says "Alpine South Lodge". We enter the house and are greeted by a receptionist behind a plastic window.

"Hello, welcome to the Alpine South Lodge," the nurse, Teresa on her name tag, says.

"Hi, we're here to visit Adam. He's family," Delilah says.

"Oh, Adam! He's in the lounge down the hall to your right. You'll find him there most of the time. He just likes to sit there for the view."

"Thank you," Delilah says. I let Delilah take the lead and follow her into the lounge room. When we get there, there are a few antique-looking couches and old English-style paintings on the walls. But then we see the automated wheelchair facing the large window at the end of the room.

"I think that's him," I say.

Delilah takes a deep breath and makes her way to the wheelchair. When we arrive side by side to it, one of the most handsome men I've had the pleasure of seeing is sitting it in. He has the same brown hair and ocean-green eyes as Delilah. He has a computer screen on his left armrest with a keyboard below it. His left hand resting on the keys. His right arm is resting on the right arm stand and his right hand is on a joy stick I presume he uses to control the chair. As Teresa said, he's just staring out the window.

"Hello, Adam?" Delilah asks. The only thing that Adam moves is his eyes as they examine us.

"This is Judas, my boyfriend," she says gesturing to me. I wave. He stares, "And I'm Delilah. I don't how to say this—but—I'm your sister."

He stares at me. Then Delilah. He then begins to type with his left hand.

"I've been waiting for you, sister." A robotic voice coming from the chair says.

"I'll give you guys a moment," I say.

"Are you sure?" Delilah asks.

"Yeah. This is a big moment for you, D. I don't want to intervene."

I then exit the room and leave her to it.

Delilah finds me outside sitting on a bench and sits next to me. But there's something off about her.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"I don't get it," she says.

"Get what?"

"Adam is Christian. He's been Christian for years. And I thought meeting him would affirm my faith in God. But instead..."

"You don't feel that?"

"Why was I born fine while he was born—like that?"

I don't say anything. I just let her speak.

"And my mom," she continues, "That's one crazy choice she had to make. She was my age when she had us. If it went the other way, nobody would've blamed her. She could've picked one quick fix to get her out of this chaos. She could have changed her mind and changed everything. But she picked us. She picked me."

We watch traffic for a while; pondering on what has been said.

"There's one more place I'd like to stop," Delilah says, "I have the address written down."

When we pull into a cemetery I start to ask Delilah what's going on.

"We're visiting the last link," she says, getting out of the car as I park. I follow her as she marches with determination up a hill. We're surrounded by tombstones and graves. I see Delilah pick up a large stone in both of her hands and continue to follow her. She then stops at a row of tombstones and begins to read the names.

"D, why are we here?" I ask.

"You'll see soon enough," she says.

She then stops on a gravestone. It's one of those that are in the ground, so I can't even read the name when she says, "Hello, Dad."

Jaclynne must've given her the address to her dad's grave.

"Delilah, what are you gonna do?" I ask.

She doesn't say anything. Instead, she takes the rock in her hand and slams it into the grave. Pieces of stone break off and fly in every direction.

Should I stop her?

She lifts the rock above her head and slams it again against the stone.

"A man like you doesn't deserve to be remembered!" She cries out, the rock crashing into the stone, "You disgusting pig!" Slam, "You had no fucking right!" Crunch, "I didn't ask to live!" the rock slams down and Delilah cries out. I run to her and she's holding her right hand. Her right pinkie nail is split in half and bleeding. The gravestone is an unrecognizable pile of rubble.

"I hate him. So much," Delilah says.

"I know. He can't hurt you anymore."

I pull out a napkin I had from the soup kitchen and wrap Delilah's finger around it. I was hoping this would help Delilah in her faith. But it seems that it's only challenged her beliefs more. I just hope God knows what he's doing.

https://youtu.be/-NHYxKak_u4