My father kicked me out when I was 18 for getting pregnant

his number. I’ve kept it in my desk all these years. I never threw it away.”

My son rose too. “Do you still have it?”

He nodded slowly. “Top drawer. Left side.”

My son disappeared down the hallway, and I could hear the creak of the old drawer opening. I sat back down, trying to breathe. My father watched me like a man drowning in regret.

When my son came continue reading …