So I stepped into the space he left behind.
I built Grace a slightly crooked treehouse in the backyard. I taught her how to ride a bike. I even learned how to braid her hair.
Eventually, she started calling me her “forever dad.”
I’m just a simple guy who owns a small shoe repair shop, but having those two in my life felt like magic. I even planned to propose to Laura.
I already had the ring.
But before I could ask her, cancer took Laura away from us.
Her final words still echo in the quiet corners of my life:
“Take care of my baby. You’re the father she deserves.”
And I kept that promise.
I adopted Grace and raised her on my own.
For years, it was just the two of us. I never imagined that one day her biological father would suddenly return and turn our lives upside down.
It was Thanksgiving morning. The house smelled like roasting turkey and cinnamon. I was stirring gravy when I heard Grace walk into the kitchen.
“Could you mash the potatoes, sweetie?” I asked.
There was no response.
I set down the spoon and turned around.
What I saw made my heart stop.
Grace stood in the doorway, trembling. Her eyes were red from crying.
“Dad…” she said softly. “I… I need to tell you something. I won’t be here for Thanksgiving dinner.”
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
