Chapter 2
Dad stared at the words. His throat bobbed. He looked up at me, eyes glistening.
“Emma…”
Richard sputtered. “That’s impossible! Her mother and I—we paid for everything. We’re the ones who—”
“You paid tuition,” I said, turning to face him. “But you never visited. You never called. You never asked how I was doing.”
I took Dad’s hand—rough, calloused, trembling—and held it high enough for everyone to see.
“He drove four hours in an old car,” I said, loud and clear. “He works two jobs to send me whatever he can. He calls me every single night. He helped me study until two a.m. before finals. And he loved me… even when I was too sad to speak.”
I looked at my mother.
May you like
“You have money,” I said. “But he has presence. And presence is worth more than anything you can buy.”
My mother said nothing. She just stared at the photo in Dad’s hand, as if seeing something she had missed all these years.
