Then June went down the steps and placed a framed court decision in my hands.
“We submitted it months ago,” she said. “It was approved last week.”
I could hardly breathe.
“We found what our biological father left behind,” Ava said. “You were never our uncle.”
Claire wiped her face.
« You were always our father. »
The room rose.
I don’t remember how I left.
—
Three weeks later I was back above the hardware store and hung two frames on the wall.
The receipt from the gas station is on the left. The adoption papers are on the right.
For years I had called it victimhood.
But it wasn’t one. It was the life I had chosen – and somehow it had chosen me back.
I sat down on the sofa, picked up my phone and scrolled to a number I hadn’t called in twelve years.
Diana.
I pressed call before I could stop myself.
She answered after the second ring.
