work. I owed him thanks.
The Card, the Book, the Lemon Bars
Now 25 and living out of state, I had finally reached the point where I was ready to say it all. I spent hours writing the card—more letter than greeting, really. I poured my heart into it. “You weren’t my father by blood,” I wrote, “but you showed up. You stayed. You mattered.”
I signed it “With continue reading …
