That sentence hurt in a different way because it exposed how completely they had misunderstood the situation. They believed I had been waiting somewhere for fifteen years, still thirteen years old emotionally, hoping they would eventually decide I deserved to return.
“You never came looking for me.”
Karen tried to answer, but I continued before she could invent another explanation. I told her about chemotherapy, the nights Laura slept in hospital chairs, the remission appointments, college move-in day, medical-school acceptance, and every birthday that passed without a call from the people now standing in front of me.
“You missed every difficult day. You don’t get to arrive for the successful one and call it parenting.”
Thomas’s expression hardened.
“We paid for thirteen years of your life before you got sick.”
I stared at him, stunned that after everything, he still thought fatherhood could be reduced to a financial ledger.
“And when the bill became too high, you returned me.”
Thomas fell silent.
