Ava picked up where her sister left off.
The auditorium blurred around me.
Then June walked down the steps and knelt beside me. She slid a framed court order into my hands.
“We filed the petitions months ago,” she said. “They went through last week.”
I couldn’t read the words. My hands shook too hard.
“We found what our biological father left behind. You were never our uncle,” Ava said into the microphone. “You were always our dad.”
She slid a framed court order into my hands.
Claire wiped her face on the stage.
“We just made the paperwork match the truth.”
June got to her feet and hugged me. The whole room stood. I don’t remember walking out.
***
Three weeks later, I was back above the hardware store, hanging two frames on the wall by the window. The gas receipt note went on the left. The adoption papers went on the right. I stood there a long time, looking at both.
I don’t remember walking out.
For two decades, I’d called it a sacrifice.
But standing in that quiet apartment, I finally understood it wasn’t. It was the life I’d chosen. And somewhere along the way, it had chosen me back.
I sat down on the couch, picked up my phone, and scrolled to a number I hadn’t dialed in 12 years.
Diana.
I pressed call before I could talk myself out of it.She answered on the second ring.
