Chapter 1: The Stage of Broken Ties

I stood on the stage where I’d just won the national youth arts championship.

The air crackled with energy, the bright lights buzzing overhead, and the roar of applause still thundered in my ears. The metallic tang from the trophy lingered in my grip, and the stage floor felt slick beneath my heels. This was the moment I’d dreamed about for years—the one Dad and I had clawed our way toward, scraping by on hope and grit. For a second, I could barely believe it was real. My heart pounded. This was everything.

Then the host leaned in, flashing a grin. Here we go—

He grinned wide, that talk-show-host smile you see on late-night TV, and the crowd buzzed with anticipation, expecting confetti or maybe a celebrity to walk out. But instead, he brought out my biological family—the ones who’d walked out on me years ago.

The moment they stepped on stage, they started bawling, voices shaking, trying to guilt me into calling them Mom and Dad.

Their voices wobbled, wringing their hands, eyes flickering to the cameras every few seconds. The audience shifted, hungry for drama. Me? I just stared, stone-faced. Honestly, I’d gotten pretty good at turning their emotional blackmail right back on them.

Afterward, whenever they thought about it? They’d wake up in the middle of the night, furious at themselves for how it all went down.

I could see it: them lying awake, replaying every word, every tear, wishing they’d done things differently. Maybe they cursed my name, or maybe just cursed their own luck. Either way, it didn’t matter.

"The reason I can stand here today is all thanks to my dad..."

I could feel my voice trembling—not from nerves, but from love. My hands gripped the trophy, and in that moment, all I wanted was for the world to meet my dad. I wanted everyone, right here, right now, to see the man who’d made this possible.

"Hold on a sec, Miss Carter. We’ve got a special surprise for you tonight."

Mr. Lambert, the host, cut in. He was a heavyweight in the business, the kind of guy known for his snappy comebacks. The network probably paid a fortune to have him host.

He had that polished, late-night swagger—always ready with a joke, a wink, anything to keep the ratings up. You could tell he lived for moments like this. He loved this.

Uh-oh. What could the surprise be? I glanced nervously at the curtain, my mouth suddenly dry.

My heart thudded so loud I wondered if the mic would catch it. The air felt thick. Every eye glued to the stage.

The curtain slid open, and four tired-looking people in thrift store clothes shuffled out.

The stage lights made their thrift store outfits look even shabbier. They moved like people who’d spent too many nights on Greyhound buses—faces drawn, wary, blinking against the glare. I felt a chill run down my spine.

The woman in front was skinny as a rail, not old but already streaked with gray. The man beside her looked plain, like someone you’d forget in a crowd, but his eyes were almost apologetic.

The boy behind them was a carbon copy of his father. The girl at the end looked small and anxious, shrinking into herself.

"Sweetheart, Mama’s missed you so much it hurts." The woman sobbed and lunged for me, arms wide.

She stumbled forward, arms outstretched, mascara running down her cheeks. Her sobs blasted through the mic—too loud, too practiced. I felt my shoulders tense.

I stepped aside, and she missed, nearly collapsing under the lights. She just crumpled there, sobbing.

Her knees buckled, and she fell, hands covering her face. The audience gasped. Some folks muttered sympathy, but all I felt was a cold pit in my stomach.

"My daughter, our family owes you. We really couldn’t afford to keep you back then, so we had no choice but to let you go. We hoped you’d get adopted by a good family, so you’d have a better shot."

Her voice shook, words spilling out between sobs. The other three crowded around, dabbing at their eyes. They looked like a flock of lost sparrows. For a second, I almost pitied them.

I hung back, nowhere near the center of the stage. I didn’t belong here.

I could feel the stage lights burning down on me. My hands clenched tighter around the trophy. The gulf between us was as wide as the Mississippi. I swallowed hard, feeling the ache.

The audience started to boo and whisper, the energy shifting.

The murmurs swelled—some people frowning, others craning for a better look. I caught snippets: "poor thing," "give her a chance," "what’s she gonna do?"

"Miss Carter, we learned you were adopted as a child, so we specially found your birth family for you. A joyful occasion—a family reunion! It’s a win-win." Mr. Lambert was still hyping it up, milking the moment.

He beamed at the cameras, voice syrupy-sweet, like he was handing me the world. I felt my jaw clench.

The audience cheered, faces flushed with excitement, all of them eager to see this so-called happy moment. I felt a wall go up inside me.

The clapping was thunderous, echoing off the rafters, but it sounded hollow. Like a celebration for someone else’s story—not mine.

Standing there, my head spun. My vision blurred for a second.

I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears. The stage tilted beneath my feet. I sucked in a shaky breath, fighting to steady myself.

These aren’t my parents. I have only one father—the man who found me in the snow, patiently braided my tangled hair, and worked double shifts just to save for my schooling. That’s who matters.

Memories flashed through my mind: Dad’s rough hands, his warm smile as he packed my lunch, the way he’d read to me by the window when the power went out. That was family. Period.

I took the microphone and gestured for quiet, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

I waited for the applause to fade, my voice coming out clear and steady. For a split second, I hesitated, then said, "I think there’s been a mistake. These are not my parents."

She tried to butt in, but I spoke over her, my voice rising.

"My parents didn’t even wrap me in a blanket that winter. They just left me in a dumpster at the edge of Maple Heights. When my dad found me, I was covered in bruises, barely alive."

A hush swept over the crowd. My words hung in the air, sharp as broken glass. I spotted a few people in the front row covering their mouths, eyes wide in disbelief. My stomach twisted.

Seeing the four of them shifting awkwardly, I pressed on, "Besides, I heard my birth parents lived in the next town over. From the time I was a kid until my dad took me to Chicago for school, not one of them ever showed up to see me."

The audience went quiet. I looked at the four of them, my tone soft but firm.

"Ma’am, I wish you really were my mother. I wish my mother had only abandoned me because of poverty, that she’d sent me to a good family and missed me every day. But you’re not. My real parents—cold, heartless, less than human—just wanted me gone. They’re nothing like you. Ma’am, you’re too kind. You could never be my parents..."

My voice cracked. Tears blurred my vision. The lights made my pale skin glow. Every emotion was out there, raw for the world to see.

As I spoke, big tears rolled down my cheeks, but this time I noticed how the stage lights caught the wetness, making me look even more exposed, almost breakable.

I wasn’t about to let these people use the stage to smear my dad’s name. No way.

I set my jaw, letting the tears fall, but underneath was a fire. Dad’s honor meant more to me than any trophy, any applause. I wouldn’t let them twist our story.

The four across from me looked embarrassed. The little girl tugged at her mom’s sleeve, but the woman slapped her hand away, face pinched with irritation.

The slap rang out, sharp in the silence. The girl shrank, eyes fixed on the floor. My heart clenched for her, but I kept my eyes forward.

Mr. Lambert, sensing the whole thing was spinning out of control, jumped in with a nervous smile.

He cleared his throat, trying to smooth it over. "I think there’s some misunderstanding here. Miss Carter, you’re educated, you went to college. I’m sure you won’t hold a grudge against your birth parents."

"Birth is everything. Your mother went through so much to bring you into the world. One day you’ll be a mom too. I believe, for your own sake and your future kids, that today, on this show, you’ll accept your mother’s late apology."