or 11 years, my father sacrificed everything to raise me after my mother abandoned us because of my disability. At my 18th birthday party, he would learn what I’d been doing behind his back. And I would discover a truth that made me wish I’d never invited one of our guests.
“She’s going to be a burden for the rest of our lives. I can’t do this.”
My mother’s voice came from just outside my hospital room.
I was seven.
A car accident had left me paralyzed from the waist down.
The day before, the doctors had said I’d probably never walk again.
Now I stared at the blanket covering my legs.
Waiting for Dad to agree.
He didn’t.
“She’s our daughter, Rachel.”
“I know what she is.”
Those words stayed with me.
Especially that last sentence.
Mom thought I was sleeping.
So did Dad.
Neither knew I’d heard everything.
Mom left that morning.
That evening, Dad sat beside my hospital bed and held my hand.
“We’ll figure this out, Bug.”
That was his nickname for me.
“Even the walking?”
