“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.
June stood and hugged me. The entire room rose to its feet. I don’t remember walking out.
—
Three weeks later, I was back above the hardware store, hanging two frames on the wall beside the window. The gas receipt note went on the left. The adoption papers went on the right. I stood there for a long time, staring at both.
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