The knock at the door was harsh and unrelenting, sending chills down my spine. I had just put my four-year-old down for a nap and expected a delivery, but when I opened the door, I was met by a man with hard eyes and a crooked smile.
“Emily,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s me. Your father.”
I froze. I didn’t recognize him. My biological father had been out of my life since birth, nothing but a painful shadow from my past.
