Then the names began.
Ava.
She walked across the stage, smiling through tears.
Claire.
She waved at me like she was still eight years old.
And then—
June.
She walked across the stage with an expression I couldn't quite read.
The ceremony continued.
I thought it was over.
Then the dean returned to the microphone.
"We have one more presentation before we close."
The three girls walked back onto the stage together.
I looked at them.
They looked at me.
June took the microphone.
"Our father couldn't be here today."
The crowd became quiet.
Then Ava pulled a folded piece of paper from inside her graduation gown.
"We found something he left behind," she said.
My heart stopped.
I knew immediately who they meant.
Their biological father.
My brother.
I hadn't seen him in years.
June unfolded the paper.
"This is the last letter he ever wrote."
Then she began reading.
The Letter
"Noah,
If you're reading this, then I know I failed you.
I failed my daughters.
And I failed myself.
The day I left those girls on your doorstep was the worst day of my life. I told myself I couldn't handle it. I told myself someone else would be better for them.
But the truth is, I was afraid.
You weren't.
You took three babies into your tiny apartment when you barely had enough money to feed yourself.
I watched from a distance.
I saw their birthdays.
I saw their school pictures.
I saw every photograph you sent me.
And every year, I wanted to come back.
But shame kept me away.
I know you probably hate me.