Something inside me broke. Love curdled into fury. I drowned myself in alcohol, destroyed photographs, erased memories. And when Grace timidly asked why I hadn’t eaten dinner, my anger exploded.
“Pack your things and leave!” I screamed. “You’re not my daughter—you’re her betrayal!”
She didn’t scream back. She didn’t plead. Tears slipped down her face as she quietly walked out the door.
I never saw her again.
The house became hollow. When people asked, I told them coldly, “She ran away.” I convinced myself I’d done the right thing, but every night I dreamed of rain and footsteps fading into the dark.
Ten years passed.
At fifty-two, I was tired, bitter, and alone—living among regrets. My body ached, my hands shook, and my heart felt empty.
Then one afternoon, someone knocked.
A young woman in a white lab coat stood outside, holding a tablet. She had Elena’s eyes.
“Mr. Monroe,” she said softly, “I need to talk to you about your daughter… Grace.”
My chest tightened.
“My… daughter?”
“I’m Dr. Natalie Harris from Cascade Genetics. We’ve identified a DNA match between you and Grace.”
I could barely breathe. “She’s… alive?”
