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She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I’m not trying to prove anything to them,” she fired back, but her words didn’t carry conviction. She glanced out the window. “The facts are the facts, Babs. They left me on your doorstep. And you and Grandad got stuck raising me.”
“We didn’t get stuck,” she replied, then leaned forward. “Schuman, would you hand me the shoe box.”
She’d forgotten the guy had it.
Schuman passed it back, and Babs removed the lid. The box was chock-full of papers, photographs, old birthday cards, and letters with postmarks dating back decades ago. “I need to show you something,” she said and removed a slim ivory envelope.
Another damned envelope.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a letter from our attorney,” her grandmother answered, then handed it over.
She checked the postmark. “It’s from over twenty years ago.”
“Open it, little miss.”
She removed the folded page and skimmed the letter.
Reeves and Barbara Presley of Denver, Colorado, request physical custody of the minor, Harper Barbara Presley.
“Your grandfather and I petitioned the court and asked them to give us full custody.”
“What? I thought my parents just left me on your porch.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” the woman replied.
“Babs, I need more information than that.”
Her grandmother released a pained breath. “Your father fell in with a rough crowd at a young age. He’d joined a band when he was sixteen and started binge-drinking and getting into all sorts of trouble. We tried getting him treatment, but he moved out when he turned eighteen and disappeared. We hadn’t heard from him in many years until he called out of the blue. We were more than surprised when he told us that he was with a woman, and they had a daughter. Then he shared that he had no money to buy groceries or pay rent. We wired money to his bank account immediately, and he started bringing you by. You were almost four years old when we met you for the first time. We hoped that your parents were making better choices. But between their band and their drug and alcohol abuse, we feared for your safety.”
She’d had no idea.
“I don’t remember much from when I was little besides loud music and falling asleep on random couches. The clearest memory I have of my parents is when they told me to sit on the porch, eat my granola bar, and wait for you and Grandad.”
Babs nodded. “Your parents received a copy of that letter the day they left you on our porch. Your grandfather and I hadn’t expected things to move so quickly. Our attorney said it could take months, but I will always be grateful to your mother and father. I know they loved you because they made the hard choice to give you a stable life. They may have made questionable decisions, but they knew you’d be safe with your grandfather and me. And had they not made that choice, there is a very good chance you would have been in that van with them when it went over the guardrails.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because you should know that your parents tried to do right by you, Harper. They loved you, but they weren’t in a place in their lives to care for you. They gave us a gift when they left you on the porch. We became a family. You were one heck of a piece of sassy work. My goodness, you had a mouth on you even then. But I wouldn’t trade the life I shared with you and your grandfather for all the riches in the world. You have a chance at a life like that. You have nothing to prove when it comes to being worthy of love and happiness. Your parents would have wanted that for you.”
Of course, she understood what the woman was saying, but it wasn’t that easy.
“I want that too, Babs, and I want that with Aria and Landon. But I can’t be with Landon if he won’t accept who he is. He’s a neurodivergent learner like his niece and me. I won’t be the means that allows him to hide who he is. If he can’t accept himself, then he can’t believe in himself, and he can’t believe in me—not the way Grandad would have wanted. I won’t allow myself to be used or diminished. And I owe it to Aria to stand my ground on this. Grandad said if something isn’t working, then change the melody, but keep making music. This is me, making a change, standing my ground, and making my music. I don’t need to prove myself to anyone.”
She held her grandmother’s gaze as a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying lifted.
“That’s my girl,” Babs said, emotion coating the words.
That’s my girl? What was this—some kind of test?
Babs slipped another envelope from the box and held it up.
And holy shit.She knew exactly what it was.
“You still have the letter I wrote to—”
“To your pop star heartthrob, Landon Paige?” Babs answered with a glimmer in her eyes. “Yes, I do. I want you to listen to what you wrote.” Babs removed the page from the envelope. “You wrote, ‘Dear Landon, My grandfather and I loved listening to your music. My grandpa believed in me. Your music reminds me of that. P.S. I’ll be eighteen in a few years and then we can get married.’”
