he didn’t know our current address, and I doubted he even remembered the exact date of Adrian’s birth. The idea of him sending a card every year was a statistical impossibility.
I took a deep breath and tried to offer Adrian the truth without crushing his spirit entirely. “It’s highly unlikely, Adrian,” I said softly. “Your father hasn’t been a part of our world for a very long time. He doesn’t know where we live, and he hasn’t reached out in eighteen years.”
Seeing the flicker of disappointment wash over
