He took a shaky breath. “That day was the last time I saw you.
Your mother left and took you with her. We’d separated…I was drinking too much. I don’t blame her.”
“I got clean not long after that,” he went on.
“Haven’t touched a drop in thirty years. But I never stopped looking for you.”
I wiped my eyes. He closed his eyes for a moment.
“Maybe in her version of the story… I did.”
Then, behind us, the violet-haired girl spoke up,
“Hold up. Are you telling me you’re my sister?”
I laughed through the tears.
She clapped her hands. “This is WILD. You guys want pizza?
Because I feel like this calls for carbs and melted cheese.”
We ended up at a cozy pizza joint around the corner. My dad, Martin, sat across from me, still holding the photo like it might vanish at any second. He looked at me gently.
“What about your mom?”
I took a breath. “She’s not ready. Not yet.
But we’ll tell her. We’ll talk. The important thing is…
I found you.”
He smiled. “I lost you once, and it nearly broke me. I don’t want to lose you again.”
That was the strangest, most overwhelming day of my life.
But I’ve never, not for a second, regretted going against what my mother said. Because that old camera, forgotten on a flea market table, brought me back to someone I was never supposed to know. And my Dad turned out to be a really good man.
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