She was bright, kind, and much more observant than any child her age should have been. As the years passed, her questions became impossible to avoid.
“Why don’t we ever visit Grandpa and Grandma?”
Because I couldn’t bring myself to confront the people who had chosen their pride instead of their own daughter—not yet.
Then, on her tenth birthday, Grace looked at me with those thoughtful eyes and quietly asked, “Can I meet them? Just once?”
I watched her for a long moment, then realized I owed her that much. So we packed one small overnight bag, got into the car, and drove eight hours back to Ohio.
My parents had no idea we were on our way.
Late that Saturday afternoon, I stood once again on the same porch where I’d been thrown out ten years earlier. Then I knocked.
A moment later, the front door opened. Richard stared at me as though he’d seen a ghost. “Evelyn?”
