I became her father through small moments: a crooked treehouse, wobbly bike rides, clumsy attempts at braiding her hair. Each act stitched us closer together. I stopped imagining a future for myself and began imagining one for us.
Then Laura became ill. The kind of illness that rewrites everything. On her last night, she asked me to take care of Grace, calling me the father her daughter deserved. I promised her, knowing that promise would define the rest of my life.
After Laura’s death, grief filled the house. Grace and I learned how to survive together. I adopted her legally, but the truth had already been written in our shared days. I was her father, not by blood, but by choice, love, and an unbreakable bond.
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