“You did it because it was honest,” I said.
“And that was brave in itself, baby.”
“She cried,” Skye said, turning to watch the houses pass. “She needed to,” Zach said. “She needed to release her old ways and be…
better.”
Three days later, Diane called me. Her voice sounded smaller than I’d ever heard it. “I owe Skye an apology,” she said.
“I was wrong… about everything.”
Then she asked if she could take him out for lunch. He was.
They went to a small café near our favorite bookstore. When he came home, he was holding a new watercolor pad and a stargazing journal. “She asked what I liked,” he told us, setting the books on the kitchen counter.
“So I told her.”
I smiled. I still didn’t trust Diane — not yet. “And she asked about my piano recital,” he added, like he still couldn’t believe it.
Later that night, the three of us sat on the front steps, sharing a pint of chocolate chip ice cream straight from the container. Skye’s legs were draped over Zach’s lap. I rested my head on his shoulder.
“You know,” Zach said, nudging Skye’s knee, “son, no matter how many gifts she gives or doesn’t give you… it doesn’t change anything between us.”
“No. Because I’m your real dad.
And I chose you. That kind of bond — son, that runs deeper than blood.”
I reached over and tucked a stray curl behind Skye’s ear. “You’re our heart, baby.
You always have been.”
He leaned into us, melting like ice cream on the porch rail. “I know,” he said. “Don’t get so soppy.”
During Christmas that year, a silver box with “Skye” written in gold sat under Diane’s tree.
Inside were paintbrushes, a new journal, and a stunning silver compass. The card read: “You helped me find my way, my boy. You’re my moral compass.”
Skye turned the compass in his hand and smiled.
And watching Skye lean against Zach like it was the safest place on earth, I knew the truth — family is who chooses you back. If this happened to you, what would you do? We’d love to hear your thoughts in the Facebook comments.
