"It's your wedding day. Where are all the grand decorations? You're not even wearing a proper wedding dress. Just because he's been married before doesn't mean you should have to settle for less."
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Thomas proposed soon afterward.
"Dad, this is what I want."
He shook his head. "Could just as well have gotten married by a judge."
***
Thomas, Caleb, and I settled into family life without any problems — at first.
I never once thought of Caleb as baggage, but I didn't try to replace his mom either. I just did my best to be there for him.
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"Could just as well have gotten married by a judge."
I packed lunches and helped with homework, sitting at the kitchen table while he practiced spelling words out loud. I sat beside his bed when nightmares woke him crying, rubbing circles on his back until his breathing steadied.
One night, after I tucked him in, he looked up at me and asked a question that brought tears to my eyes.
"Can I call you Mom?"
My eyes burned. "I'd be honored."
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He looked up at me and asked a question that brought tears to my eyes.
***
A year later, I made it official.
I adopted him legally, signed the papers in a courthouse downtown with Thomas holding my hand and Caleb standing between us in his favorite superhero shirt.
When I told my father, all his cold disdain turned explosive.
I adopted him legally.
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"What are you thinking, Julie? That child isn't yours!" he said flatly over the phone.
"He is mine in every way that matters."
He let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"You don't even hear yourself. You're tying yourself to someone else's responsibility. You're throwing your life away!"
I stared at the adoption papers spread out on the table in front of me.
"What are you thinking, Julie? That child isn't yours!"
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"That's not how love works." My voice shook, but I didn't back down. "Thomas and Caleb are my family, Dad."
He went quiet again. Not the thoughtful kind, but the kind he used when he was deciding how hard to come down on me.
"There are limits," he said finally. "Blood is one of them. You're making a choice you can't undo."
Just when I thought he couldn't hurt me anymore, he said something that cracked my heart in two.
"There are limits."
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"Don't call me again. Not until you come to your senses."
"What? Dad, you can't mean that…"
He ended the call without another word.
I stood there, phone still in my hand, realizing he hadn't just rejected my decision.
He'd rejected my family. My son.
"Don't call me again."
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