Ten years ago, I made a promise to a dying woman — a promise that became my life.Laura was warm and gentle, the kind of person who lit up every room. She had a little girl, Grace, with shy eyes and a soft laugh that captured my heart instantly. Her biological father disappeared when Laura told him she was pregnant. No calls, no support — nothing. I stepped into the space he left behind. I built Grace a crooked treehouse, taught her to ride a bike, and tried — badly — to braid her hair.
She began calling me her “forever dad.” I planned to propose to Laura, but cancer took her before I could. Holding my hand, she whispered, “Take care of my baby. You’re the father she deserves.” I adopted Grace and raised her alone while running my small shoe-repair shop. Life wasn’t perfect, but we had each other. Every Thanksgiving was just us — until this one.
