Chapter 17
June’s first birthday arrived on a golden Saturday in early November.
We didn't host a giant party with caterers and balloon arches. We didn't need one.
We gathered in the backyard of Sycamore Glen Court under the warm autumn sun. Holly had baked a simple vanilla smash cake topped with fresh strawberries, shaped like a smiling sunflower. Aunt Carol and Uncle Robert—now fully recovered from his knee surgery and walking without a cane—sat on lawn chairs near the porch, drinking hot apple cider.
Robert had called me the week before to show me his bank statement; Diane’s cashier's check had cleared months ago, fully restoring his retirement savings to the exact cent.
"Look at her go!" Uncle Robert cheered as June dug both hands into the yellow frosting, smearing strawberry jam across her nose and forehead with triumphant gurgles of delight.
We all laughed, snapping photos on our phones.
At three o'clock, the mail truck stopped at the curb.
Holly walked out to the mailbox and returned with a small bundle of birthday cards from my school coworkers. Tucked between the colorful envelopes was a plain manila envelope without a return address, bearing a Dayton, Ohio postmark.
I walked over to the picnic table, away from the chatter, and slit the top with my thumbnail.
Inside was a single birthday card with a drawing of a smiling turtle on the front. Tucked inside the card was a certified money order for four hundred dollars, and a single sheet of lined notebook paper.
*Dear June,* the letter read.
*Today you are one year old. You won't remember this day, and you won't remember the sound of my voice. That is my fault, and it is the heaviest burden I will carry for the rest of my life.*
*I am writing this from a halfway house in Montgomery County. I work eight hours a day stacking wood, and every night I sit in a circle of men and learn how to tell the truth. For seven years, I thought being a man meant pretending to be bulletproof while digging holes beneath the people who loved me. I was a thief, a liar, and a coward.*
*Your mother is the bravest, strongest human being I have ever known. Every good thing in your life comes from her courage. She saved you from the dark world I was building.*
*I don't expect you to call me Daddy. I don't expect your mother to ever forgive me. My only goal in this life now is to work every single day so that when you turn eighteen, you will know that the man who gave you half your DNA finally learned how to stand on his own two feet without taking what wasn't his.*
*Happy first birthday, little bird.*
*Adam.*
I folded the paper carefully, slid it back into the manila envelope, and sealed it.
I didn't cry. But the cold, heavy knot of residual bitterness that had sat in the center of my chest for twelve months finally, quietly dissolved into the autumn air.
He was doing the work. Not for me, not to win back his old life, but because the alternative was death.
May you like
And for June’s sake, that was all I could ever hope for.
***
