Chapter 8: The Father Who Chose Me
Dad answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Thomas said.
“Everything okay?””
The sound of his voice nearly broke me.
I had spoken to him that morning. He'd asked whether I was going to Carly's party, and I'd told him I would probably stay for an hour. He'd said he wished I didn't feel obligated to go anywhere that day.
I hadn't told him how much the date hurt.
Now I sat at Grandma's kitchen table with a birth record, a letter from a man named Daniel, and the knowledge that the person who had raised me had kept a secret for nearly three decades.
“Dad,” I said, “I need you to come to Grandma's house.””
There was a pause.
“What's happened?””
“I need to talk to you about my birth.””
Another silence.
Longer this time.
Then he said, “I'll be there in fifteen minutes.””
He didn't ask what I knew.
He didn't ask why.
He simply told me he was coming.
That frightened me more than any question could have.
When Dad arrived, his pickup truck pulled into Grandma's driveway so quickly that the tires crunched against the gravel. He entered without knocking, his face drawn and pale.
He looked at the papers on the table.
Then he looked at Mom.
“You told her,” he said.
Mom shook her head.
“She found out.””
Dad closed his eyes.
For a moment, I saw the old man I'd watched become tired over the years, the one who sometimes forgot where he left his reading glasses and needed an extra minute to stand after working in the garden.
Then he opened his eyes and looked at me.
“Emma, I'm sorry.””
I had imagined this conversation on the drive to Grandma's house. I'd imagined shouting, tears, accusations, even the possibility that I'd walk out before anyone could explain.
I hadn't imagined my father apologizing before I asked a single question.
I pointed to the chair opposite me.
“Sit down, Dad.””
He did.
I placed Daniel's letter on the table.
“Did you know he tried to see me?””
“Yes.””
“Did you know he wrote this?””
Dad examined the envelope.
“I knew he contacted your mother. I didn't know she kept the letter.””
“Did you ever want him to see me?””
He rubbed his hands together.
“That's not a simple question.””
“Try answering it anyway.””
He nodded slowly.
“When Linda told me about Daniel, I was already in love with you. I'd changed your diapers, put you to bed, and taught you how to clap your hands. You were a year old. You didn't know the difference between a biological father and the man who came when you cried.””
His voice caught.
“I knew the difference. I just didn't think it mattered as much as the love I'd already given you.””
I looked down.
That sounded like him.
It also sounded like the kind of explanation that could justify an enormous decision.
“Did you believe Daniel deserved to know me?””
Dad stared at the table.
“Yes.””
“Then why didn't you tell me about him?””
He drew a long breath.
“Because I made a promise to your mother. I told her we would wait until you were old enough to understand. I thought we'd tell you when you were eighteen.””
“What happened when I turned eighteen?””
“Your mother was afraid you'd reject her. She said you were preparing for college, and she didn't want to upset you. I agreed to wait until you finished your first year.””
“And then?””
“Then you started dating Ty. You were happy. You were building your life. Your mother said it would be cruel to bring up something so complicated while you were making decisions about marriage.””
I stared at him.
“And when Ty and I got married?””
Dad's face crumpled.
“Your mother said she didn't want you worrying about whether you were related to people on his side of the family. She said we'd tell you later.””
“And when I got pregnant?””
He nodded.
“We should have told you then. I wanted to. We argued about it.””
Mom stared at him.
“Thomas—”
“Don't,” he said.
It was the first time I'd heard Dad speak to her that way.
He turned back to me.
“When you told us you were pregnant, I thought about Daniel. I wondered whether you had a right to know the medical history of your biological family. I asked your mother if she'd contact him. She refused.””
I took a slow breath.
“So you knew I'd need that information eventually, but you still kept it from me.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
Dad looked straight at me.
“Because I was selfish.””
The words silenced the room.
“I loved you, Emma. I loved you as if you'd been born from my own body. And I was afraid that knowing about Daniel would make you wonder whether I had ever been enough. I was afraid you'd go looking for him and discover that there was a part of your life that had nothing to do with me.””
My eyes burned.
“You thought I'd stop loving you?””
“I was afraid you'd see me differently.””
“Dad, I have never thought of you as anything other than my father.””
He nodded, tears sliding down his cheeks.
“I know that now.””
“No. You should have known it then.””
He lowered his head.
I reached across the table and took his hand.
I wasn't ready to forgive him. But I couldn't look at the man who had spent thirty years loving me and pretend that love counted for nothing.
“You didn't need to protect your place in my life,” I said.
“You already had it.””
Dad covered my hand with his other one.
“I know, sweetheart.””
“And I wish you'd trusted me enough to tell me the truth.””
“I know.””
For a while, we sat quietly.
Then Grandma spoke.
“Thomas, do you remember Ruth's letter?””
Dad looked up.
“Yes.””
“Did you read it?””
He nodded.
“Linda showed it to me after we married. It said Daniel deserved to know Emma, and that Emma deserved to know him. It also mentioned something about the hospital.””
Mom's face went white.
Dad turned toward her.
“What did you tell them?””
Mom shook her head.
“Nothing.””
Dad looked at me.
“Emma, when you were born, Daniel came to the hospital before I did. I wasn't your legal father yet. Your mother called me after you were delivered, and I came as soon as I could.””
“Did you see him?””
“Yes.””
“Did you speak to him?””
Dad nodded slowly.
“He was standing near the entrance when I arrived. He asked whether I was the man who intended to raise you. I told him I hoped to be.””
“What did he say?””
Dad swallowed.
“He told me not to let you grow up believing he had abandoned you.””
I looked at the letter again.
Please don't tell her I didn't want her.
“Did he ask you to keep him away from me?””
“No. He asked me to tell you the truth when you were old enough.””
“Then what promise did you make?””
Dad looked toward Mom.
“I promised him that if he ever came back, I would let you decide whether you wanted to meet him.””
I stared at him.
“And did he come back?””
Dad didn't answer immediately.
Grandma leaned forward.
“Thomas?””
Dad rubbed his forehead.
“He came to my office once, when Emma was three. He said he didn't want to disrupt her life, but he wanted to know how she was doing. I told him she was healthy, happy, and loved.””
“What else?””
“He asked whether I'd told you about him. I said not yet. He asked when I planned to. I told him we'd do it when the time was right.””
“And was it?””
Dad shook his head.
“No. I was afraid every time I thought about it.””
Mom began crying again.
“I was afraid, too.””
I turned toward her.
“You keep saying that. I understand you were afraid. But you have used your fear to make decisions for everyone in this family.””
“I know.””
“You did it with Daniel. You did it with Dad. You did it with Grandma. And then you did it with my letter.””
Mom wiped her face.
“I was trying to find a way to make sense of everything.””
“By giving Carly my letter?””
“No.””
“By marking the passages you wanted her to read?””
She froze.
Dad turned toward her.
“What?””
I slid my phone across the table, showing him the photographs Carly had sent.
He read the notes in the margins.
His expression changed with every line.
“You planned this?”” he asked Mom.
“No. I wanted Carly to understand Emma's grief. I didn't tell her to read the letter aloud.””
“You marked the paragraphs.””
“I thought she'd read them privately.””
“Then why did you write 'read this one slowly'?””
Mom covered her face.
“I was trying to explain how much pain Emma was in.””
Dad pushed the phone away.
“You took something she had trusted your mother to keep safe. You showed it to Carly. You encouraged her to use it as a lesson for the family. And now you're saying you had nothing to do with what happened?””
“I never wanted Emma to be humiliated.””
“Then you should have asked her permission.””
Mom had no answer.
Dad stood, walked to the window, and stared into the garden.
When he turned back, his eyes were red.
“Emma, I have made mistakes. I should have told you about Daniel. I should never have allowed my fear of losing you to become a reason to keep you in the dark.””
He paused.
“But there's something else you should know.””
My stomach tightened.
“What?””
He returned to the table and sat down.
“Daniel didn't just come to the hospital when you were born. He came back to Evansville last month.””
I stared at him.
“What?””
Dad nodded.
“He called me. He said he had seen something online about your sister's baby shower plans. He knew the date was July eighteenth. He asked whether you would be at the party.””
I couldn't breathe.
“Why would he ask that?””
“Because he wanted to meet you.””
I looked at Mom.
She was crying silently.
“Did you know he was coming back?””
She nodded.
“When?””
“Three weeks ago.””
“And you didn't tell me?””
“No.””
“Why?””
Mom looked at me through her tears.
“Because Daniel said he was tired of waiting for the right moment. He told me he would be in Evansville on July eighteenth, and that if I didn't tell you the truth, he would try to speak to you himself.””
The room went silent.
I looked down at the envelope with his address.
The date written on it.
The gender reveal.
The due date.
All at once, the pieces seemed to fit together.
My mother had known Daniel might appear at the party.
She had known I'd be surrounded by relatives.
She had known Carly was angry with me.
And she had decided to expose my private letter before I could learn the truth from anyone else.
“Mom,” I whispered, “did you give Carly the letter because you were afraid Daniel would show up?””
She looked away.
Dad rose slowly.
“Linda, tell her.””
Mom's shoulders shook.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I was afraid you'd hear the truth from him.””
I stared at her.
“You used my grief to keep me from asking questions about my own life.””
“I didn't know what else to do.””
“You could have told me.””
“I know.””
Then Dad reached into his pocket and pulled out a small folded note.
“Daniel left this for you,” he said.
“He asked me to give it to you if I couldn't arrange a meeting.””
I opened it.
There were only two lines.
Emma, I don't know what you've been told about me. I only ask that you let me tell you the truth in my own words.
I'll wait until you're ready.
Below the message was a phone number.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I looked at the calendar hanging above Grandma's desk.
July eighteenth was nearly over.
May you like
Daniel had waited thirty years to meet me.
And my mother had spent the day making certain I never got the chance.
