Ten years after I adopted my late girlfriend’s daughter, she stopped me while I was making Thanksgiving dinner. Her eyes were red, her hands were shaking, and when she finally spoke, it felt like the floor disappeared beneath me. “Dad,” she whispered, “I’m going to my real father. He promised me something.”
I had raised Grace since she was little. Her mother, Laura, died of cancer years earlier, and before she passed, she asked me to take care of her daughter. I adopted Grace, taught her how to ride a bike, built her a treehouse, and loved her as my own. Her biological father had disappeared before she was even born. But now, after all these years, he had suddenly found her online. His name was Chase, a local baseball star with a reputation for caring more about himself than anyone else.
