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He swallowed hard. “Because I was 17. I didn’t know what I was doing, and I didn’t know how anyone could walk away from a baby. And I thought if you believed at least one parent chose to keep you, it might hurt less.”

A broken sob escaped me. I wrapped my arms around my midsection.

“And later?” I whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me when I was older?”

“After a while, I didn’t know how to tell you something that might make you feel unwanted.” He looked back at me then. “In my heart, you were mine the moment I carried you through that graduation.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Stop this! You’re making me look bad on purpose,” Liza reached for me again, a wild look in her eyes, “but nothing can change the fact that she doesn’t belong to you.”

I ducked behind Dad.

“Stop this, Liza! You’re scaring her. Why are you even here?” Dad asked.

Liza’s eyes widened. For a moment, she looked fearful.

Then she turned to face the crowd, her voice rising. “Help me, please. Don’t let him keep my child from me any longer.”

My child.

Not my name, not “daughter,” just a claim.