She’s 13 now, caught in that whirlwind of being a teenager. Her biological dad comes in and out of her life like the tide—sometimes present, often distant. She’s old enough now to see that inconsistency, and it hurts her more than she lets on. Last night, while she was visiting him, I got a text from her: “Can you pick me up?” That was all it said. No explanation, no details. I didn’t need any. I just drove.
