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Instinctively, I pulled back.
Dad put his arm out in front of me, creating a barrier between my mother and me.
“You’re not taking her anywhere,” Dad said.
“You don’t get to decide that,” she snapped.
“Will someone tell me what’s going on? Dad, please!”
He looked at me then and hung his head. “I never stole you from her, but she is right about one thing. I’m not your biological father.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
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“What? You… lied to me?”
“Liza left you with me. Her boyfriend didn’t want the baby, and she was struggling. She asked me to watch you for one night so she could meet him and talk things over.” He paused. “She never came back. He disappeared that night, too. I always assumed they ran off together.”
“I tried to come back!” Liza cried.
Who was telling the truth?
Then a voice rose from somewhere in the stands. “I remember them.”
“What? You… lied to me?”
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Everyone turned.
One of the older teachers from the school was walking down the steps toward us.
“You graduated here 18 years ago with a baby in your arms.” She gestured to Dad. Then she nodded at the woman. “And you, Liza, lived next door to him. You dropped out of school before graduation. You disappeared that summer. Along with your boyfriend.”
The murmuring in the stands grew louder.
And just like that, the shape of the story shifted.
I turned back to my dad.
“You graduated here 18 years ago with a baby in your arms.”
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