It had been wrecked my brain for months. What exactly did he keep in there? My house

he'd been so secretive. Even when I was younger, my father was more than happy to share his

work with me at the dinner table. I listened intently, fascinated by the projects his biotech

lab was working on. I didn't understand most of the jargon, but that's probably why he

was willing to reveal the hidden truths of the trade. He knew I wouldn't retain enough

to be a liability. But then, there's the room.

It was an extension of his bedroom, one that was built when we moved in so he could do

some of his work from home. Its secrets were locked behind a cast-iron door, and no matter

how many times I asked, my father would not divulge what he described as being classified

as research. Eventually, I stopped nagging him about it.

That brings us to the other day. My father woke me at 6.30am sharp for my weekly blood

draw. It was something he started last year as a precaution. Knowing the dangers he possibly

brought home each day, he felt the need to check in and make sure I hadn't been infected

with one of the many strains of harmful bacteria he worked with. Up to that point, I was

in tip-top shape. No issues since the day he started. This day, however, broke the streak.

My dad went to his secret room, ran his usual tests on my blood, and raced back to see

me, startled by an alarming discovery. My blood had been tainted by something as he described

it. He assured me there was nothing to worry about. He would just need to go into work

and run some more scans and get second opinions on the data. He promised to be back before

dinner. With that, he rushed out the door, clearly rattled by his findings. When dinner

time rolled around and he wasn't home, I became a bit worried and called him. He answered

and said there were more tests to be performed, but everything was looking good. He told me

...