Ten years after I adopted my late girlfriend’s daughter, she stopped me while I was preparing Thanksgiving dinner, shaking like she’d seen a ghost. Then she whispered the words that cracked the world under my feet: “Dad… I’m going to my real father. He promised me something.”
Ten years ago, I made a promise to a dying woman, and, frankly, it’s the thing that’s mattered most in my life.
Grace’s bio dad had vanished the second he heard the word “pregnant.” No calls, no child support, not even a lame email asking for a photo. Continue reading…