“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
Dad swallowed hard. “Because I was 17. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I didn’t know how anyone could walk away from a baby. And I thought if you believed at least one parent chose to keep you, it might hurt less.”
A broken sob escaped me. I wrapped my arms around my midsection.
“And later?” I whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me when I was older?”
“After a while, I didn’t know how to tell you something that might make you feel unwanted.” He looked back at me then. “In my heart, you were mine the moment I carried you through that graduation.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
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“Stop this! You’re making me look bad on purpose,” Liza reached for me again, a wild look in her eyes, “but nothing can change the fact that she doesn’t belong to you.”
I ducked behind Dad.
“Stop this, Liza! You’re scaring her. Why are you even here?” Dad asked.
Liza’s eyes widened. For a moment, she looked fearful. Then she turned to face the crowd, her voice rising.
“Help me, please. Don’t let him keep my child from me any longer.”
My child. Not my name, not “daughter,” just a claim.
“Stop this, Liza! You’re scaring her. Why are you even here?”
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Everyone was talking at once now, but nobody moved forward. Liza stood there a moment longer before she finally seemed to realize that nobody was going to help her take me away from Dad.
“But I’m her mother,” she said in a small voice.
“You gave birth to me, Liza.” I stepped sideways and took Dad’s hand. “But he’s the one who stayed. He’s the one who loved me and looked after me.”
