Ray suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“I just wanted you to know that even when we couldn’t put much away, we were still moving forward.”
At the bottom of the box was a handwritten note.
*Kid,*
*It isn’t enough yet.*
*We’ll keep going.*
*Ray.*
It was probably the least expensive birthday gift I had ever received.
And somehow, it meant more than anything else.
Three hours later, someone knocked on our front door.
Mom answered.
Then I heard a man’s voice.
“I came to see my son.”
I froze.
The stranger standing outside wore an expensive jacket and watch.
Gray touched his temples.
But I recognized him immediately from the few photographs Mom had kept.
My biological father.
He smiled.
“Happy birthday, son.”
Fourteen years without a birthday card.
