For years, I convinced myself that Dad chose my stepbrother because he simply needed him more. Then I discovered what Dad had done with the future my late mother left me, and one phone call to Grandpa changed everything.
I was ten when my mom died.
Before that, I was unmistakably Daddy’s little girl.
Dad and I had a tradition: certain Saturdays, the same corner booth at the same diner, where the syrup came in glass pitchers and the waitress called me “boss.”
After Mom died, he kept taking me. Those mornings were the safest hours of that whole awful year.
I was ten when my mom died.
Mom had planned for a future she suspected she wouldn’t see.
At ten, I didn’t understand trusts or tuition. I only remember her sitting on the edge of my bed and saying, “This is for whatever you decide to become.”
***
Two years later, Dad married my stepmom, Diane. She came with Jace, a son my exact age.
Dad’s attention shifted almost immediately.
“This is for whatever you decide to become.”
Suddenly he cared about Jace’s science fair, Jace’s soccer cleats, Jace’s problems, Jace’s plans.
I kept looking for ways to get a little of my dad back.
The first time I asked about our diner Saturday, Dad said sure, then added, “Jace can come too!”
I swallowed my disappointment. Time with Dad was still time with Dad.
Another outing got postponed because Jace needed him. Jace wasn’t more important, I told myself. He just needed Dad more.
I kept looking for ways to get a little of my dad back.
A few years later, I tried once more.
Just after I turned eighteen, I was driving past the diner and saw a banner in the window: Blueberry Pancake Saturdays Are Back!
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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