I kept the house anyway. Ate supper alone at the same table every night. Thanksgiving was the worst. I would make a small turkey and watch the game with the sound low. The empty chairs felt louder than any yelling we used to do.

I would think about Rachel’s laugh and how she used to steal the crispy skin off the bird before I could carve it. Those memories hurt worse every year.

I drove past the Flores house sometimes on my way to the store. Her car would be in the driveway. Later I saw a graduation announcement in the local paper with their last name on it. Rachel Flores. She had taken their name like they really were her parents now. I sat in my truck and cried that day. First time in forty years.

Mind you I wasn’t a total monster. I sent a card every birthday for the first few years. No return address. They all came back unopened. After a while I stopped. What was the point.

Last week I went to the library like I do every Thursday. They have the new magazines out and I like to sit in the quiet for a bit. That’s when I saw the flyer pinned to the community board. It had her picture on it. She looked so grown. Professional suit and everything. The heading said Attorney Rachel Flores. Free legal clinic for single mothers. Every Tuesday and Thursday at the community center.

The article next to it said she turned down a hundred and ninety thousand dollar job at some big firm up north so she could open this clinic instead. Helping women who didn’t have anybody else. I read it three times standing right there between the mystery books and the water fountain. My legs felt funny.

I drove straight to the address without even thinking. Sat in the parking lot for a full hour watching people go in and out. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking on the steering wheel. I kept hearing that deadbolt click from seventeen years ago. Finally I got out and walked inside before I could talk myself out of it again.

The waiting room was plain but clean. A few young moms with kids flipping through magazines. I gave my name at the desk and they told me to have a seat. My heart was pounding so hard I thought the lady next to me could hear it.

Then they called me back.

She was sitting at a metal desk with a stack of files. Her hair was longer than I remembered and there were little lines around her eyes that hadn’t been there before. She looked up when I walked in. The pen in her hand stopped moving.

For a second neither of us said anything. Then she set the pen down real careful like it might break.

“You’re seventeen years late and I have a client in ten minutes.”