She never told me my father’s name. After she died, I found no photographs or documents identifying him.
She had only said he chose fear over us.
Nathan’s request should have disturbed me.
Instead, it touched the oldest wound I had.
I forced a smile.
Nathan laughed until he coughed.
“Well then, hello, Dad.”
Nathan laughed until he coughed.
I reached for the call button.
“Do not ruin my first minute as a father.”
“You are already demanding.”
For six weeks, we built a small, borrowed family.
“I have lost time to make up for.”
For six weeks, we built a small, borrowed family.
I brought him coffee. He saved crossword clues for me. I pushed his wheelchair through the garden while he criticized flowers he had never planted.
The hospice approved two outings after Nathan signed medical releases.
The manager greeted him by name.
The first was to Millie’s Diner.
The manager greeted him by name.
“Good to see you, Nate.”
Nathan shrugged when I looked at him.
“I used to work here.”
A waitress brought Nathan coffee without asking what he wanted.
We sat in a corner booth.
A waitress brought Nathan coffee without asking what he wanted.
He ordered two slices of apple pie.
“Expecting company?” I asked.
“I dislike making decisions.”
The second outing was to the ocean.
People sometimes assumed I was his daughter.
I helped him across the sand. He removed his shoes, pressed his feet down, and closed his eyes.
“Worth it?” I asked.
“Ask me when I can’t stand.”
People sometimes assumed I was his daughter.
Nathan always answered before I could.
Still, after years of caring for my mother and being needed by everyone, I liked being chosen.
“She is.”
Every time he said it, warmth moved through me, followed by guilt.
I knew we were pretending.
Still, after years of caring for my mother and being needed by everyone, I liked being chosen.
Nathan weakened quickly.
“Was I convincing?”
During my final visit, he could barely keep his eyes open.
“Was I convincing?” he asked.
“As a father?”
“As someone worth remembering.”
I held his hand.
At his funeral, I recognized hospice workers, the diner manager, and a silver-haired waitress.
“You were difficult.”
“That sounds honest.”
“And I will remember you.”
He died the following morning.
At his funeral, I recognized hospice workers, the diner manager, and a silver-haired waitress.
He watched me place a flower on Nathan’s casket.
Eric stood alone near the back.
He watched me place a flower on Nathan’s casket.
He did not approach me.
The following afternoon, Eric called.
“My name is Eric Cole. I handled Nathan’s estate. I need to tell you something he should have told you himself.”
A wooden box sat on the table.
We met in a conference room at his office.
A wooden box sat on the table.
Eric looked exhausted.
“Nathan was your biological father.”
For several seconds, the words meant nothing.
Inside was a signed acknowledgment of paternity from before my birth.
Then my chest tightened.
“No.”
Eric slid a file toward me.
Inside was a signed acknowledgment of paternity from before my birth, copies of letters my mother had returned unopened, and a recent genealogy match.
Nathan had found me through the database.
Years earlier, I had submitted my DNA while looking for relatives on my mother’s side.
Nathan had found me through the database.
“He confirmed your identity and learned where you volunteered,” Eric said. “He chose that hospice because of you.”
My stomach turned.
“He arranged everything.”
“Yes.”
I stood so quickly my chair struck the wall.
