I run a small shoe repair shop downtown. It’s nothing fancy. I mend soles, replace heels, polish shoes for people hoping to make a good impression. I fix kids’ cleats without charging because I know what it’s like to count every dollar. I don’t have much, but I’ve always made sure Grace had what mattered.
We became a family of two. Thanksgiving dinners with just us at the table. Laura’s old recipe card propped up beside the stove. Grace mashing potatoes, flour dusting her cheeks, laughing when I pretended not to know how timers worked.
The Thanksgiving That Changed Everything
That Thanksgiving started like all the others. Comfortable. Familiar. Safe. We sat down to eat, and for a while, everything felt right with the world.
Then Grace put her fork down.
Her face went pale, and her hands trembled slightly as she folded them in her lap. I knew that look. The one that meant something heavy had been carried for too long.
“Dad,” she said softly. “I need to tell you something.”
I reached across the table and took her hand without hesitation. “Whatever it is,” I said, “we’ll handle it together.”
She inhaled, sharp and shaky. Tears gathered in her eyes.
“I’m going back to my real dad.”
The words landed like a sudden silence after a loud noise. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
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