That year, Grace was fifteen. Taller than I remembered her being. Quieter, too. She helped with the side dishes while I prepared the turkey exactly the way Laura used to—lemon, herbs, patience.
The house smelled like the past and the present meeting gently in the middle.
We sat down at the table. Just the two of us.
Grace picked up her fork… then set it back down.
Her face drained of color.
“Dad,” she said, voice trembling, “I have a confession.”
My chest tightened.
“I’m… I’m going back to my biological father.”
The words froze my blood.
“You won’t believe who he actually is,” she added quickly. “You’ll recognize him.”
I couldn’t speak.
“He found me online months ago,” she continued. “I didn’t reply at first. I swear. But he kept messaging. He said he didn’t know how to find us before. He said he was sorry.”
I stared at the turkey, suddenly unable to see it.
“He promised me something,” she whispered.
“What?” I asked quietly.
“A future,” she said. “College paid for. Stability. He’s wealthy.”
I waited. “Do you want to go?”
Grace broke down sobbing.
