My husband pushed me down the stairs, and as I lay shattered at the bottom, my mother-in-law called my father and said, “Come get your worthless daughter and take her back.” Dad gave her only one warning: “If she has so much as a scratch, your family will answer for it.” They laughed at him because they had absolutely no idea who my father truly was.

“That isn’t the same thing.”

I ended the call politely.

I no longer needed distant relatives to certify my reality.

Lily came into the kitchen carrying her backpack.

“Grandpa, can I have apples with cinnamon?”

Dad glanced at me and reached for the spice jar.

The world outside still held court dates and unanswered questions.

Inside the kitchen, a five-year-old had a snack preference, and for the moment it mattered more than every rumor Celeste could invent.