My 76-year-old grandpa spent years sewing quilts and selling them at a flea market so I could walk again — then one day, a gruff biker showed up and said, “I’ve been looking for you for 20 years.”

forgive you, but he has no right to erase you.

Hannah.”

I read it twice, hoping the words would rearrange themselves.

They didn’t.

I looked at Cole. “Are you saying I’m your daughter?”

“I’m saying Hannah believed you were. I want proof too.”

Grandpa reached for my chair.

I knocked his hand away.

“Stop moving me every time you continue reading …