Ms. Wilson was stunned, her face flickering with complex emotions. She had never met Richard, and always thought I was an orphan.
“I’ll help pack some clothes for you,” she said softly.
I nodded. “Please… could you also bring the family photo from my place?”
Not long after she left, my consciousness began to drift.
In my dream, Dad wrapped his arms around Mom’s shoulders, kissed my cheek, and laughed, saying he would make me the happiest little princess in the world.
But Lucky was dead.
My Lucky was dead.
Dad, you lied to me.
I don’t know how long I slept.
Every time I woke, I could hear Ms. Wilson’s worried voice, sometimes breaking into sobs.
“What? Richard Carter is Emily’s father?”
“Emily is this sick, and he hasn’t shown up once—what kind of father is that?”
“Why can’t we reach him? Emily… she doesn’t have long left…”
“Emily, Emily…”
Ms. Wilson was wonderful, as kind as Mom had been.
She sat with me through chemo, read me bedtime stories.
Too often, I fell asleep halfway, too exhausted to listen till the end.
On my birthday, fireworks thundered outside the window.
Ms. Wilson tried to block my view, but I smiled and teased her, saying I wanted a bite of cake.