Today the court called me your father. Thank you for asking. But I need you to know something I wish I had understood sooner. You never had to make me your dad to prove that what I did mattered. Raising you was not a loan. It was my life. And I loved my life.

Then:

Still do.

I closed the notebook.

Put it back in the kitchen drawer.

Where important family history apparently belongs.

Under takeout menus.

Next to dead batteries.

Waiting for somebody to find it when I am no longer paying attention.