He cried when I told him about you.
He asked whether you were happy, whether you were healthy, and whether you had been loved.
I told him you had been given a good home.
Then he asked to meet you.
I gripped the paper.
I told him I would not allow him to walk into your life and destroy the family that had raised you. He was married. You had grown up believing he was your biological father, but he had no idea you were also my child.
He agreed not to approach you without your adoptive parents’ consent.
He gave me his word.
But before he left, he asked me one question.
“Eleanor, did you ever stop loving me?”
I told him the truth.
“No.”
He cried again.
I covered my mouth.
My father had carried that secret for years.
He had sat across from me at dinner, asked about my job, complained about the weather, and helped me through heartbreaks.
