I turned toward Dad.
His face had gone pale.
“Dad?” I said softly.
He didn’t answer.
The woman lifted her arm and pointed directly at him.
“That man is not your father.”
Gasps spread through the crowd.
My head spun.
“Who are you?” I asked.
Her voice trembled when she answered.
“I’m your mother.”
The woman who had left me eighteen years earlier was standing at my graduation.
“And he lied to you,” she continued. “He stole you from me.”
Dad finally spoke.
“That’s not true, Liza,” he said firmly. “At least not the way you’re saying it.”
I grabbed his wrist.
“What is she talking about?”
He looked down at me.
“I never stole you,” he said quietly. “But she’s right about one thing. I’m not your biological father.”
The words felt like electricity running through my chest.
“Then what happened?”
“Your mother lived next door to me back then,” he explained. “Her boyfriend didn’t want the baby. She asked me to watch you for one night while she figured things out.”
“And then?”
“She never came back.”
“I tried to!” the woman suddenly cried.
Before anyone could answer, a voice rose from the bleachers.
“I remember them.”
An older teacher from the school slowly walked down the steps.
