Chapter 1 - The Man Who Wasn't My Real Father
The first time I broke my father's heart, I was wearing the wedding dress he had paid for.
My name is Naomi Brooks. I was twenty-six, twelve days away from getting married, and standing in the living room of the Atlanta house where I'd grown up.
The alterations woman had just left.
My dress was beautiful. Ivory satin, delicate lace sleeves, and a train that swept across the hardwood floor.
Calvin Brooks stood near the fireplace, smiling at me.
At sixty-one, he had more gray in his beard than he liked to admit. His hands were rough from thirty years of building custom cabinets, and he still wore the same inexpensive wristwatch I'd given him for Father's Day when I was sixteen.
"You look just like your mama," he said.
I smiled, but my stomach tightened.
My mother, Denise, had died four years earlier. Calvin had kept her favorite photograph on the mantel ever since.
He glanced at the dress.
"That train looks longer than the hallway at church. You sure I won't step on it?"
I looked down.
"Dad, there's something I need to tell you."
He chuckled.
"What? They added another thousand dollars to the bill?"
I didn't laugh.
His smile faded.
"Naomi?"
I took a breath.
"I've decided that Julian is going to walk me down the aisle."
For a moment, Calvin didn't move.
Julian Ellis was my biological father.
He had disappeared from my life when I was four and returned twenty-two years later, just six months before my wedding.
Calvin had married my mother when I was six. He'd legally adopted me three years later.
But lately I'd been thinking about everything I'd missed with Julian.
The father-daughter dances. The birthdays. The resemblance I could see in photographs.
I'd convinced myself that letting him walk me down the aisle might finally give us a moment that belonged to us.
Calvin looked at me as though he hadn't understood.
"Julian?"
"Yes."
"Your biological father?"
I nodded.
He glanced toward the mantel, then back at me.
"And where will I be?"
"You'll still have a special seat, Dad. Right up front."
"A seat?"
Something in his voice made me uncomfortable.
I hurried to explain.
"It's not like I'm excluding you. I just think this is something Julian and I should share."
Calvin stared at me.
"Naomi, I raised you for twenty years."
"I know that."
"I took you to school. Sat through your recitals. Helped you through college. I was there when your mother got sick. I was there when we buried her."
"Dad, please."
"Does none of that count?"
"Of course it counts."
"Then why am I finding out twelve days before your wedding that I'm being replaced?"
His voice had not risen.
That made my answer sound even worse.
"Because Julian is still my real father."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Calvin blinked.
Once.
Twice.
It was as though something inside him had gone very still.
"Your real father," he repeated.
I crossed my arms.
"You know what I mean."
He looked toward the family photographs lining the mantel.
There was one of me at eight, missing my two front teeth.
Another showed my high school graduation.
A third showed Calvin and me outside the courthouse on the day my adoption became official.
Then he looked back at me.
"After twenty years, Naomi, is that really how you see me?"
I couldn't answer.
He reached into his trouser pocket and took out a white envelope.
"I was going to give you this today anyway."
He held it out.
I accepted it, confused.
Inside were several printed pages from the wedding planner.
There were itemized invoices and payment confirmations.
Venue rental: $18,500.
Catering: $15,600.
Flowers and decorations: $4,200.
Photography and video: $5,400.
Music: $2,800.
Wedding attire: $2,100.
Additional services: $3,400.
At the bottom, one number had been highlighted.
TOTAL PAID: $52,000.
I stared at it.
Calvin had promised to cover the wedding, and I knew it was expensive.
But seeing every payment listed together felt different.
"Dad, what is this?"
He looked at me with an expression I'd never seen before.
Not anger exactly.
Something colder.
"Give that bill to your real father."
My throat tightened.
"Calvin—"
But he was already turning away.
He walked toward the front door, picked up his keys, and stepped outside.
He didn't slam the door.
He closed it quietly.
That was somehow worse.
I stood alone in the living room, holding fifty-two thousand dollars' worth of receipts.
For the first time, I understood that my decision had consequences I hadn't considered.
But the money wasn't the thing that frightened me most.
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It was the look on Calvin's face when I called another man my real father.
And the terrible possibility that I had just pushed away the only father who had never walked away from me.
