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“I don’t care if he’s the father. He’s no good for you. You’ve been clean ever since you came home. Think of the baby. He deserves better than a deadbeat father.”

There’s a knock at the door. At first I expect to see Daniel walk in, but a caregiver walks in instead. “Hello, Janet, it’s time to get ready for dinner.”

I have so many questions swimming around in my head. I want to know more. I want to know more about what happened, but I know this isn’t the time. If anything, it’ll rile her up and ruin her day. I don’t want to do that. It wouldn’t be fair to her.

“Have you met my daughter?” Janet says, proudly smiling at me.

The caregiver grins at me even though she knows I’m not this woman’s daughter. “I don’t believe I have.”

“Hi,” I say.

“This is Ashley.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” the caregiver says.

I nod, standing. “I’ll come by another time.”

My heart is bursting. I’m elated with this clue. I have a name. It might only be a first name, but that’s something I can work with.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DANIEL

I stagger away from the door. It’s not true. It can’t be. Grandma told me she never knew my father. I had asked more than once growing up. Every single time she’d say my mom never told her who he was. She told me he didn’t want the baby, but that was a lie. He didn’t even know I existed.

My chest constricts, squeezing tighter and tighter to the point where I can’t breathe. I gasp for air, but the air doesn’t make it to my lungs. I tug on the collar of my shirt, but nothing helps. Hot tears prick at the corners of my eyes, and I run.

I have to get out of here. This place is closing in on me, and I need fresh air.

Once outside I round the side of the building and lean against the brick wall. I pant and my mouth dries, leaving my lips parched. I rub my eyes with the back of my sleeves. This shouldn’t bother me. I’m not someone who lets people hurt them. Yet, it stings, like a knife turning in my chest. I’ve never had a great relationship with Grandma, but I never thought she’d lie to me about something this important. I’ve beenupset at my parents for as long as I remember. I hated that my dad didn’t want me, but maybe hewouldif he knew about me. Is that possible?

I sink to the ground and pull my knees in, hiding in the shadow of the building. My breathing regulates, other than the occasional hitch, but my head is still spinning. I tug on my hair, trying to distract myself from the pain.

“Daniel?” It’s Margo. Of course it is. She’s like a parasite I can’t get rid of.

“What do you want now?” I mumble. “Did you come here to gloat?”

She sits crisscrossed on the ground next to me. I expect her to rub her victory in my face, but instead she says, “Are you okay?”

I half laugh. “I just found out my grandma’s been lying to me for the past seventeen years, so yes, I’m great.”

Margo doesn’t say anything for a moment, which is shocking considering this is the first time she’s ever been quiet around me. Up until this point I genuinely didn’t think it was possible to make her speechless.

She leans back and watches the traffic move by. Then after a few minutes she says, “Maybe she lied because she loves you. Sometimes people lie to protect the people they care about.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.” Besides, she doesn’t know what our relationship was like. Grandma never smiled when she saw me. She never hung my artwork up on the fridge as a kid. She never told me she was proud of me.

“Maybe not, but it could be why she did it. You never knew your father. Maybe she had a reason not to tell you about him.”

“You don’t get it,” I say, staring off. “If she lied to meabout this, how many other things has she lied to me about?” I want to agree with her, but the wound is too fresh. I can’t find a silver lining in any of this. “My entire life I grew up thinking my parents didn’t want me because that’s what she told me. But if what she just said is true, my mom didn’t tell my dad about me. What would’ve happened if she did?” My voice trails off to the point where it’s barely above a whisper. “Maybe he would’ve wanted me.”

“I know you didn’t believe me when I told you I could find him, but I promise you I can.” She’s serious, looking straight at me. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

For the first time, I do believe her. She may be overbearing at times and a little wild, but I trust she’ll keep her word. There’s a new feeling building up in the pit of my stomach: fear. What if we do find him? What then? Will he want me in his life after missing the first seventeen years? Maybe he won’t, but I know if I don’t find out, I’ll regret it. I’ll always wonder about it in the back of my head. He might be the family I’ve been longing for. Maybe we’d laugh and tell stories. Maybe he’d toss a football back and forth with me like they do in the movies with happy families. Maybe I wouldn’t be lost anymore. What if finding him is what helps me find myself?

“Yes,” I say, barely above a whisper, “I want you to find him.”

“Then it’s as good as done.”