Or keep the father.
So she chose me.
And my father spent the rest of his life living next door to a daughter who never knew who he was.
A few days later I visited his grave.
I placed apple blossoms beside the headstone and knelt in the quiet grass.
“I wish we had more time,” I whispered.
Some truths stay buried for decades.
But eventually they find their way back to the surface.
And when they do, all you can do is face them.
Note: This story is a fictional narrative created for storytelling purposes.
