me finish.”
Tears glistened in her eyes.
“You may not have my blood.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“But you’ve always been my daughter.”
The room disappeared.
Nothing existed except those words.
After all these years.
After every sacrifice.
Every lunch packed.
Every school play attended.
Every scraped knee bandaged.
Every heartbreak survived.
She had never seen me as a stepdaughter.
Only a daughter.
The title had never mattered.
Family had.
Three months later, I reduced my work hours.
Six months later, I took my first vacation in nearly a decade.
A
