“You wrote this.”
Vanessa stared at it.
“Yes.”
“You should read it.”
Her hands began trembling.
She opened the envelope carefully.
Inside was a card that had waited nearly two decades for the little girl it had been written for.
Vanessa unfolded it.
For several seconds, she couldn’t speak.
Then she began reading.
Her voice cracked before she reached the second sentence.
June listened.
Ava listened.
Claire listened.
And I stood in the doorway wondering what exactly my role was now.
For twenty years, I had been protector.
Father.
The person who stayed.
Part of me wanted to guard the girls from Vanessa even then.
Another part understood they were no longer babies in bassinets.
They were grown women.
They could decide for themselves what relationship—if any—they wanted with the woman who gave birth to them.
That scared me more than I expected.
Not because I thought they would replace
