being convenient.
He never met Adrian.
Never sent a present.
Never asked for a photograph.
Some years, I was not even sure he remembered I existed, much less that he had a son.So I answered the way I always did when that subject came too close.
“Sweetheart, your dad does not know where we live.”
Adrian’s face fell slightly, and I hated how quickly I continued.
“And even if he did, I’m not exactly betting on him becoming Father of the Year through anonymous stationery.”
That earned half a
