After a brief relationship in my early twenties ended in heartbreak when I got pregnant, I raised my daughter alone. When she turned 18, she finally met her father—and he and I got married. When I was 20, I was a receptionist in a North Carolina branch of an international company.
I fell in love with a colleague over calls he made to our office. Jeff worked in a different branch of the company, two states away. That should have kept us apart.
He was 11 years older, which was problem enough. But we found a way to meet in person and began seeing each other. Before long, I got pregnant.
Both our homes were devastated. His marriage ended, and my parents were furious. They told him to stay out of my life, and he agreed.
Kaylee was born in June of 1998. She was an unplanned miracle—one I would do anything to provide for. I allowed him to see her twice when she was an infant but remained angry at Jeff for pulling away because of my father's orders.
I decided he'd never get a second chance. Kaylee was 10 when she first asked about her biological father. We tried to track him down, but all we found were dead ends.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
