“To my girls. You’re one-year-old today. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, and I don’t know if I’ll still be doing this right by then, but I wanted to write it down, anyway.”
A chill ran straight down my spine.
I knew those words. I knew their rhythm, and I knew the man who had written them alone at a kitchen table above a hardware store, with three sleeping babies in one crib because he couldn’t afford three.
I knew because that man was me!
June continued reading.
“I’m 27. I’m scared all the time. I don’t know how to be a father, but I know I’m not going anywhere.”
I slipped out of my chair, my knees hitting the floor, and the camera almost fell from my hand!
Someone beside me grabbed my elbow and helped me back into the seat. I couldn’t look at them.
When she said, “Our father,” she meant me. She had meant me all along!
On the stage, my daughter paused, looked straight down the aisle, right at the crying man in row seven, and went on.
June’s voice became steadier as she read from the different entries.
“To my three girls. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be what you need. But I’m going to stay. I’ll never be the dad you deserve, but I’ll be the one who shows up.”
Ava continued where her sister stopped, her voice breaking.
“I promise you breakfast every morning, even if it’s burnt. I promise you’ll never wonder where I am.”
Claire finished it.
“I love you more than I knew a person could love anything. Happy first birthday!”
The whole auditorium blurred.
Then June came down the steps and knelt beside me. She placed a framed court order in my hands.
“We filed the petitions months ago,” she said. “They went through last week.”
I couldn’t make out the words. My hands were shaking too badly.
“We found what our biological father left behind. You were never our uncle,” Ava said into the microphone. “You were always our dad.”
Claire wiped her face on the stage.
