I was wrong.
Just before the closing remarks, the university president stepped toward the microphone.
“We have one additional presentation requested by three of today’s graduates.”
My stomach fluttered.
Then Lily, Brooke, and Sophie returned to the stage together.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
Brooke was already crying.
That terrified me more than anything.
Sophie took the microphone.
She looked into the audience.
“Our father isn’t standing on this stage with us today.”
My heart stopped.
Eric.
The name came into my mind instantly.
Of course.
Maybe they had found him.
Maybe he was sick.
Maybe he had died.
Maybe they wanted to publicly forgive him.
Every insecurity I had buried for twenty-two years came rushing back at once.
Sophie continued.
“When we were babies, our biological father went through something he couldn’t handle, and he walked away.”
The room became silent.
I stared at the stage.
“We grew up knowing that story,” she said. “But we also grew up believing another story.”
Lily stepped closer.
“That the man who raised us did it because he had to.”
My throat tightened.
Brooke wiped her cheek.
“He always called it responsibility.”
People around me began turning.
I wanted to disappear.
Sophie looked straight at me.
“But a few months ago, while we were helping him clean out the apartment, we found something in the kitchen.”
My chest tightened.
No.
Not—
Lily held up an old spiral notebook.
I stopped breathing.
They had found it.
The notebook.
Twenty-one years of entries.
Every fear.
Every failure.
Every birthday.
Every night I thought I wasn’t enough.
“No,” I whispered.
Sophie opened it.
“The first entry was written on our first birthday.”
Then she read.
“I have three little girls asleep ten feet away from me, and I am terrified.
“I don’t know whether I can give them everything they deserve.
“I don’t know whether I’ll ever have enough money.
“I don’t know whether I’m doing anything right.
“But there is one thing I know.
“Tomorrow morning, when they wake up, I’ll still be here.”
I covered my mouth.
The entire room disappeared.
I remembered that night.
The kitchen light.
Three secondhand cribs.
A pile of bottles drying beside the sink.
Twenty-seven-year-old me sitting at that table, convinced I was failing three babies who deserved so much more.
Sophie’s voice shook.
“There was an entry every birthday.”
Brooke took the notebook.
“Age five.”
She read:
“Sophie called me Dad today.
“Then Lily and Brooke admitted they’d already been calling me Dad at school.
“I cried in the parking lot.
“I hope they never find out how scared I am that one day they’ll decide I’m not really their father.”
My knees weakened.
People around me gasped softly.
Lily took over.
“Age thirteen.”
“Eric called tonight.
“He wants to come back.
“Maybe I’m selfish, but I’m scared.
“Not that the girls will love him.
“I want them to love him if that helps them heal.
“I’m scared they’ll look at him and realize I was only a substitute.”
I bent forward.
My hands were shaking.
On stage, Lily closed the notebook.
Sophie spoke again.
“Dad, you spent our entire lives afraid you were the substitute.”
She was crying now.
“You weren’t.”
Brooke reached behind the podium.
She lifted a large envelope.
“We also found out that because we’re adults now, we could make one decision without asking anyone else’s permission.”
I stared at her.
Lily smiled through tears.
“Three decisions, technically.”
The audience laughed.
I didn’t.
I couldn’t move.
Then the university president gestured toward me.
“Mason Carter, would you please come forward?”
“No,” I whispered.
Mrs. Coleman would have pushed me if she had still been alive.
She had passed away four years earlier at eighty-six.
I could almost hear her.
Get up there, you fool.
Someone beside me touched my shoulder.
“Sir, I think they mean you.”
I stood.
My legs barely worked.
I walked toward the stage.
Halfway there, Brooke came running down the stairs and grabbed my hand.
“What did you do?” I asked.
She was crying and laughing.
“Something we should’ve done a long time ago.”
