Chapter 9 - THE DAY GRACE ASKED ABOUT THE PICTURE
Grace was eight when she found the photograph.
The one from the hospital.
Me holding her after birth.
Dad beside us.
She noticed something.
“Where's my dad?”
I froze.
There were no photographs of Ryan from that day.
“Can we talk?”
She climbed onto the couch.
I had always known this conversation would come.
I promised myself not to lie.
“Your dad and I were not together when you were born.”
“Why?”
I breathed.
“Because he hurt me.”
Grace's face changed.
“Like hitting?”
“Yes.”
Children understand more than adults want them to.
“Did he hurt me?”
“No.”
“Was I in your tummy?”
“Yes.”
She stared.
Then whispered:
“That's bad.”
“Yes.”
“Why do I see him now?”
Fair question.
“Because people can do bad things and still work to become safer.”
“Did he?”
“He has been working for years.”
“Do you forgive him?”
I thought.
“Yes.”
“Does that mean you love him?”
“I care about him because he's your father.”
“Not the same?”
“No.”
Grace nodded.
Then:
“Grandpa saved you?”
I smiled.
“No.”
She looked confused.
“He came.”
I continued.
“He saw the truth. He got help.”
“That's saving.”
“Partly.”
Then I said what Dad taught me.
“But I had to choose what happened next.”
Grace thought about that.
“I like Grandpa.”
“Me too.”
---
Dad was seventy now.
Still intimidating.
Grace had zero fear of him.
She ordered him around constantly.
“Grandpa, sit.”
He sat.
“Grandpa, tea party.”
He attended.
“Grandpa, pink hat.”
He wore it.
May you like
I photographed everything.
Justice.
