I glanced at Dad. He was staring at the woman in horror.
“Dad?” I nudged him.
He didn’t respond.
The woman pointed at him. “That man is not your father.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
I looked back and forth between them, trying to understand if this was some kind of cruel joke.
It felt impossible—like someone had just announced the sky was brown.
The woman stepped closer. “He stole you from me.”
Dad seemed to snap out of his shock then.
He shook his head. “That’s not true, Liza, and you know it. At least not all of it.”
“What?” I said.
Now the whispers were spreading. Parents leaned toward each other. Teachers exchanged confused glances.
I grabbed Dad’s wrist. “Dad, what is she talking about? Who is she?”
He looked down at me. His lips parted, but before he could speak, the woman cut in.
“I’m your mother, and this man has lied to you your entire life!”
My mind felt like it was racing in ten directions at once. My mother was standing at my graduation while everyone watched us.
She grabbed my hand. “You belong with me.”
Instinctively, I pulled away.
Dad stepped forward, placing his arm in front of me like a shield.
“You’re not taking her anywhere,” Dad said.
“You don’t get to decide that,” she snapped.
“Will someone tell me what’s going on? Dad, please!”
He finally looked at me and lowered his head. “I never stole you from her, but she is right about one thing. I’m not your biological father.”
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