I was 20 when I found out my stepmom had been lying to me about my father's death. For 14 years, she told me it was just a car accident. Random. Nothing anyone could have done. Then I found a letter he wrote the night before he died — and one line in it made my heart stop.
For the first four years of my life, it was just Dad and me.
I don't remember a lot from back then. It's all just fuzzy flashes of the scratchy feeling of his cheek against mine when he carried me to bed, and how he used to set me on the kitchen counter.
"Supervisors sit up high," he'd say with a grin. "You're my whole world, kiddo, you know that?"
My biological mother died giving birth to me. I remember asking about her once when I was really little.
I don't remember a lot from back then.
We were in the kitchen, and Dad was making breakfast.
"Did Mommy like pancakes?" I asked.
He stopped moving for a second.
"She loved them, but not as much as she would've loved you."
I remember wondering why his voice sounded so thick and strange. I didn't get it then.
Everything changed when I was four.
I didn't get it then.
