Daddy, can we invite my real dad over for Father’s Day dinner

a distant memory.

Dinner continues.

The chicken is perfect.

The potatoes are buttery.

The laughter becomes louder.

At one point Daniel looks at me across the table.

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you first,” he says sincerely.

I nod.

“I’m sorry I assumed the worst.”

We both sit quietly for a moment.

Then I extend my hand across the table.

He shakes it firmly.

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