He walked to his car and drove away. No speech. Just fading taillights.
Inside, someone shouted, “Family picture!”
We crowded around Mom. There was a space where a father might have stood. For a second, I saw it.
Then I stepped into it and wrapped my arm around her shoulders. She leaned into me, medal cool against my skin, her smile real and steady. The camera flashed.
For years, I’d been the girl whose dad walked out. That night, I understood I was the daughter of an extraordinary woman. And that was enough.
