“Was it actually true?” I asked him.
“No,” his raspy voice broke completely as he reached out a trembling hand toward me. “Please. I don’t have much time left. Please let me see my granddaughter before I die.”
Every bitter instinct inside me wanted to say no to him right then and there. But then I remembered Harper’s crayon drawing sitting on my kitchen table, and her soft wish for a bigger family.
“I am never going to forgive you for what you did,” I told him strictly.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” Arthur replied humbly.
“I will bring her here tomorrow morning,” I declared. “I am doing this entirely for her, not for you.”
The very next afternoon, I walked Harper through the lobby of St. Jude Hospital.
In the elevator riding up to the fourth floor, I knelt down to explain things to her.
