They placed Lily with a foster family. Six months later, a man named David Reed filed for adoption. I didn’t even know it was happening until it was done.
For two years I wrote letters that came back unopened. Called numbers that went nowhere. Sat in parking lots outside her old daycare like a ghost.
Then one night I found David Reed’s address online. A house in North Carolina. 900 miles from my front door.
I packed a bag. Put the gun under the seat. Drove fourteen hours straight. No music. No stops except gas.
I kept seeing Lily’s face the last time she reached for me in that courtroom. She was screaming Daddy.
I pulled up to the house at 6 AM. Sat there for twenty minutes with the engine off and my hand on the gun.
Then the front door opened. David Reed walked out holding Lily on his hip. She was five now. Bigger. Her hair was longer.
She was laughing.
He set her down and went back inside. She ran to a swing set in the front yard. I stepped out of the truck. Crossed the street. The gun was in my waistband.
