She didn’t answer.
I turned around and felt my chest lock.
She stood frozen in the doorway, trembling, her eyes red and swollen.
“Dad…” she whispered. “I need to tell you something. I won’t be here for Thanksgiving dinner.”
My stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?”
She swallowed hard.
“I’m going to my real father. You know him. He promised me something.”
The words hit like a punch.
“He found me,” she said quietly. “On Instagram. Two weeks ago.”
Then she said his name.
Chase.
A local baseball star—loud, arrogant, adored by fans, notorious behind the scenes. I’d read enough headlines to know exactly who he was.
“Grace,” I said carefully, “that man has never once asked about you.”
“I know,” she cried. “But he said he could ruin you.”
My blood went cold.
She rushed on, terrified. “He said he has connections. That he could shut down your shop with one phone call. But he promised he wouldn’t—if I went with him tonight. He needs me there. He wants people to think he raised me. That he’s a family man.”
I dropped to my knees in front of her.
“What else did he promise?”
Her voice broke. “College. A car. A future. He said I’d be part of his brand. That people would love us.”
She looked at me, devastated.
“I already said yes. I thought I had to protect you.”
My heart shattered.
I held her face gently. “Listen to me. No job is worth losing you. You are my world.”
Then I said the words that mattered most:
“Leave this to me.”
⸻
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