“My God,” she whispered. Her voice trembled.
The woman stared at my face like she was trying to memorize every feature.
Then she said something that made the entire field go quiet.
“My God.”
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“Before you celebrate today, there’s something you need to know about the man you call ‘father.’”
I glanced at Dad. He was looking at the woman in terror.
“Dad?” I nudged him.
He didn’t respond.
The woman pointed at him. “That man is not your father.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
I glanced from her face to his, trying to understand if that was a joke.
“That man is not your father.”
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It felt impossible, like someone had just told me the sky was brown.
The woman took another step closer. “He stole you from me.”
Dad seemed to snap out of it then.
He shook his head. “That’s not true, Liza, and you know it. At least not all of it.”
“What?” I said.
Then the whispers grew louder. Parents leaned toward each other. Teachers exchanged confused looks.
“He stole you from me.”
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I wrapped my fingers around Dad’s wrist. “Dad, what is she talking about? Who is she?”
He looked down at me. His lips parted, but before he could speak, the woman cut in.
“I’m your mother, and this man has lied to you your entire life!”
My brain felt like it was trying to run in ten directions at once. My mother was there at my graduation, and everyone was watching us.
She grabbed my hand. “You belong with me.”
“Dad, what is she talking about? Who is she?”
