I adopted Grace legally. There were forms, court dates, and a judge who smiled kindly when Grace squeezed my hand. From that day forward, she was my daughter in every way that mattered. Not by blood, but by choice, commitment, and love.
Life after that was not easy, but it was honest.
Money was often tight. Some months the shop barely stayed afloat. But Grace never questioned whether she belonged. I attended every school performance, every parent meeting, every scraped knee and bad dream. I memorized Laura’s recipes, especially the ones she never wrote down, because they carried her presence into our kitchen.
Thanksgiving became sacred.
That year, Grace was fifteen. She had grown taller than I realized, her voice deeper, her silences longer. She helped prepare the side dishes while I cooked the turkey the way Laura always had, with lemon, herbs, and patience.
The house smelled like memory and continuity.
We sat down to eat. Just the two of us.
Grace lifted her fork, then set it down. Her face went pale.
“Dad,” she said softly, “I need to tell you something.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“I’ve been talking to my biological father,” she said. “And I think I’m going to live with him.”
The words landed heavily.
She rushed to explain. He had found her online months earlier. She hadn’t responded at first. She had ignored messages, doubted motives. But he persisted. He apologized. He said he hadn’t known how to find us before.
“He promised me a future,” she said quietly. “College. Stability. A life without struggle. He has money.”
I asked her one question. “Do you want to go?”
She broke down.
“I don’t know,” she cried. “I feel guilty even thinking about it.”
I reached across the table and took her hands, the same hands I had once steadied on bicycle handlebars.
“You never betray someone by telling the truth,” I told her.
Two weeks later, she left.
The house felt empty in a way I hadn’t experienced since Laura was gone. I returned to the shop. Repaired shoes. Polished leather. Kept busy. Waited.
Months passed.
Then one afternoon, the bell above my door rang.
I looked up and nearly dropped the shoe I was holding.
Grace stood there.
