Iris placed the letters in a neat pile.
She kept the photograph beside her.
Then she looked directly at me.
"I need you to tell me everything."
I nodded.
"Okay."
"No leaving things out."
"I understand."
"And no changing the subject."
I lowered my eyes.
"I won't."
She leaned back.
For the first time that night, she looked less like a girl coming home from prom and more like someone trying to put together a life she had never fully understood.
Ryan remained quiet.
I was grateful for that.
This conversation belonged to my daughter.
And I had already taken too much away from her.
I began with the beginning.
I told her that I had met her father when I was younger.
We had been together for a long time.
At first, we were happy.
We had ordinary plans.
A small apartment.
A future.
Maybe a family one day.
Then things changed.
We argued more often.
We disagreed about money.
We disagreed about where we wanted to live.
And when I discovered I was pregnant, everything became more difficult.
Iris listened without interrupting.
I told her that her father had been frightened.
I had been frightened too.
We were young.
Neither of us knew how to handle what was happening.
But he hadn't simply disappeared.
That was the first truth I had to admit.
"He wanted to be involved?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
"Then what happened?"
I took a breath.
"We had a serious argument."
"What about?"
I looked at her.
"About our relationship. About the future. About whether we could raise a child together."
Iris frowned.
"Did he want you to have me?"
I thought about the question.
"He was scared, but he never told me he didn't want you."
She looked down.
I continued.
"When you were born, he came to the hospital."
"Because you let him?"
I shook my head.
"He came because he wanted to see you."
Iris was quiet.
"He held you," I added.
She looked at the photograph.
"I know."
I nodded.
After that, I explained what had happened.
We argued again.
I was exhausted.
I felt alone.
I was angry that he hadn't been beside me throughout the pregnancy in the way I had wanted.
He was angry that I wouldn't let him make decisions.
Neither of us was thinking clearly.
Finally, I told him to leave.
And I meant it.
At least, I thought I did.
Iris watched me.
"Did he leave because you told him to?"
"Yes."
"And then he wrote to you?"
"Yes."
"More than once?"
I nodded.
She looked at the letters.
"How many times?"
"Three letters that I kept."
She closed her eyes.
I could see the anger building.
"Did you answer any of them?"
"No."
"Did you call him?"
"No."
"Did you tell him where we lived?"
I hesitated.
"No."
She stood up.
"Why?"
I couldn't blame anyone else.
I couldn't blame our arguments.
I couldn't blame being young.
Those things explained how I had felt.
They didn't excuse what I had done.
"I wanted to start over."
Iris shook her head.
"So you decided he couldn't be my father?"
I swallowed.
"I thought I could give you a better life without all the fighting."
"But you didn't ask me."
She was right.
"I know."
"You didn't even give me the choice."
"I know."
She walked toward the window.
Outside, the street was dark.
The same driveway where she had stepped out of Ryan's car only a few hours earlier.
She had left this house dressed for a celebration.
Now she was standing in the living room learning that her childhood had been shaped by decisions she had never known existed.
I wanted to go to her.
I stayed where I was.
After a while, she turned around.
"Does he know where we are now?"
I looked at her.
"I don't know."
"Did you ever try to find him?"
I shook my head.
"No."
She looked disappointed.
"Not even once?"
"No."
Ryan shifted in his chair.
Iris noticed.
"Ryan, what happened tonight?"
He looked at her.
"I should explain."
She sat down again.
He leaned forward.
"At prom, we were outside for a while."
Iris nodded.
"We were talking near the entrance."
Ryan explained that a man had approached them.
He was older.
He seemed surprised to see Iris.
At first, Ryan thought the man was simply someone who knew her family.
But the man had called Iris by her name.
Then he had asked whether Claire was her mother.
Iris looked at me.
I felt the blood leave my face.
Ryan continued.
"The man seemed emotional. He asked whether you still lived in the same area."
Iris leaned forward.
"What did he look like?"
Ryan described him carefully.
He said the man had gray in his hair.
He wore a dark jacket.
He looked tired.
But he had been polite.
He had asked whether Iris was enjoying prom.
Then he asked whether she knew much about her father.
Iris's mouth fell open.
"Did he tell you who he was?"
Ryan nodded.
"He said he was someone who knew your family a long time ago."
I looked at Ryan.
"Why didn't you tell her immediately?"
He looked at me.
"Because I didn't know what was true yet."
Iris turned toward him.
"What happened next?"
Ryan explained that the man had mentioned a name.
The name written on the back of the hospital photograph.
Iris looked down at the picture.
Then she looked at me.
"That was him?"
I couldn't answer.
Ryan nodded slowly.
"I believe so."
Iris stood up again.
"Did he know who I was?"
Ryan looked at her.
"Yes."
She put one hand over her mouth.
I could see the questions forming.
The excitement of the evening had disappeared.
In its place was something much more complicated.
She had been hoping to tell me an amazing story about prom.
Instead, she had discovered that her father might have been closer than she ever imagined.
And that I had kept his letters.
Ryan spoke again.
"He asked whether you knew the truth."
I closed my eyes.
Iris turned toward me.
"What truth?"
I looked at her.
The answer was no longer something I could avoid.
"He wanted to know whether I had ever told you about him."
She stared at me.
Then she looked at the letters.
And finally, she understood why Ryan had been so angry when he entered our house.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Man Ryan Met Outside the Prom Hall Had Asked About Me, and My Daughter Finally Understood Why Her Date Refused to Stay Silent
I Thought My Daughter Finally Had the Perfect Night, Until Her Prom Date Walked Into Our House With Something to Say
Part 7 of 20
