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Part 2: Maya
I read the note three times. At my daughter’s funeral.
Then I looked across the room. At Ben.
He was standing by the back wall. Alone. His face gray.
I walked over to him. I held out the photo.
He looked at it. He started crying.
He said, quietly, She made you a tie. Maya did. She worked on it for a whole afternoon.
He said, Ashley was going to give it to you at the reception. Right after the first dance.
I said, Where is she now?
He said, With a temporary foster family. Since the accident.
He said, I’m not licensed to foster alone. Ashley was the primary. The agency took her the next morning.
He said, They told me I could apply. Alone. But it could take months. And they don’t usually place children with single men who just lost a partner.
He said, She doesn’t understand where Ashley went. She keeps asking for her.
I sat down on the church steps. Still wearing the paper tie.
Ben sat beside me.
He told me everything.
Maya’s mother couldn’t care for her. Maya was in foster care since she was three. Four homes in two years.
Ashley and Ben became licensed foster parents last spring. Maya came to them in August.
Ben said, The first night, she wouldn’t sleep. Ashley sat on the floor beside her bed. Until three in the morning.
He said, She told Maya, My dad used to sit with me like this. When I was little.
I put my face in my hands.
That night, a woman called me. From the foster care agency. Ms. Delgado.
She said, Mr. Harper? I understand you’re Ashley’s father.
She said, I’m calling about Maya. I’m so sorry for your loss.
She said, We need to make a long-term plan for her. Mr. Collins is grieving. He’s not eligible on his own right now.
She said, There’s an approved family in the next county. They’re ready to begin the adoption process.
She said, I wanted you to know. As a courtesy. Before we move forward.
Part 3: Twenty-Six Years
I didn’t sleep that night. I sat at my kitchen table. The paper tie in front of me. I let myself count.
Thirty years since Ashley was born.
Twenty-eight years raising her alone. Her mother left when she was two.
I counted the jobs I worked. Three at once, sometimes. Warehouse. Night security. Weekend landscaping.
I counted the braids. Thousands. I got good at them by third grade.
I counted the times she called me Daddy. Then Dad. Then, after college, Pops.
Then I counted Ashley’s last two months.
She came over every Sunday. Like always. She seemed happy. Tired. Distracted.
I asked once if everything was okay. She said, Better than okay, Dad. You’ll see.
I thought she meant the wedding.
She meant Maya.
Then I counted Maya.
Five years old. Four foster homes. Her mother lost custody when she was three.
Two months with Ashley and Ben. The longest she’d ever stayed anywhere.
Now she was in a fifth home. With strangers. Asking for Ashley.
Then I counted myself.
Fifty-eight years old. Widowed? No. Divorced twenty-eight years. Living alone in a two-bedroom house.
A spare bedroom. Ashley’s old room. Still has glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling.
The next morning, I called Ms. Delgado back.
I said, I’d like to apply. To be Maya’s foster parent. And adopt her. With Ben.
She was quiet.
Then she said, Mr. Harper, you’d need a home study. Classes. Background checks. It takes months.
I said, I’ve got time.
She said, I’ll be honest. The other family is already approved.
She said, There’s a meeting on Friday. With Maya’s guardian ad litem. To discuss her placement.
You can come. But I can’t promise anything.
Part 4: The Meeting
The meeting was in a small conference room at the county building.
Ms. Delgado. Maya’s guardian ad litem, a lawyer named Mr. Webb. Ben. Me.
And the other family. A couple in their forties. The Morrisons. Kind faces.
Ms. Delgado said, Our priority is stability. Maya needs a permanent home. Quickly.
She said, The Morrisons are licensed. Approved. Two parents. They’ve adopted before.
She said, Mr. Collins is grieving. He’s not eligible alone right now. And Mr. Harper isn’t licensed yet.
She said, I have to recommend what’s best for Maya. Not what’s best for the adults.
Then she turned to me. Gently.
She said, Mr. Harper. I know this is painful. But Maya has already had five homes.
Please don’t make her wait months for a sixth. Let her go to a family that’s ready now.
I felt that one land. It was meant to.
Because she was right. Maya needed stability.
I took a slow breath.
Ms. Delgado, I said quietly, I understand. Maya comes first. Always.
She nodded.
But Maya isn’t starting over with the Morrisons, I said. She’d be starting over with strangers.
She already has a family. She just lost part of it.
She has Ben. Who sat with her every night for two months. She has me.
And she has my daughter. Who’s gone. But who wanted her more than anything.
I held up the paper tie. And the note.
I read it out loud.
Ben and I have been fostering her for two months. We’re adopting her after the wedding. Surprise, Grandpa.
The room was quiet.
Then Mr. Webb, the guardian ad litem, spoke.
He said, Ms. Delgado. I visited Maya yesterday. At her temporary placement.
I asked her what she wanted.
She said she wants to go home.
I asked her where home was.
She said, With Ben. And the grandpa with the tie.
Ashley told her about you every night.
Part 5: Two Ties
Ms. Delgado looked at me for a long time.
Then she looked at the Morrisons.
Mrs. Morrison spoke first. She said, quietly, We’d love to adopt her. But not if she already has a family waiting.
She said, We’ll wait for another child. One who needs us.
Ms. Delgado closed her folder.
She said, Mr. Harper. Mr. Collins. If you’re both willing to do this together, I’ll recommend kinship placement.
Ben as the primary. You as the secondary caregiver. While you both complete your licensing.
She said, It’ll take work. Classes. Home visits.
I said, We’ll do it.
Ben and I took the classes together. Twelve weeks. Tuesday nights.
We passed the home study in March. Ben moved into a small house four blocks from mine.
Maya came home in April.
The first night at Ben’s house, she wouldn’t sleep.
Ben called me at midnight. He said, She’s asking for you.
I drove over. I sat on the floor beside her bed. Until three in the morning.
Like Ashley did. Like I did for Ashley.
Maya fell asleep holding my finger.
The adoption was finalized in October. Ben is her father. I’m her grandpa.
She stays with me every Wednesday and every other weekend. In Ashley’s old room. Under the glow-in-the-dark stars.
Last June, on Father’s Day, Maya woke me up early.
She was holding something behind her back.
She said, Close your eyes, Grandpa.
I closed them.
She pressed something against my shirt.
I opened my eyes.
A small pink paper tie. Covered in red hearts.
The one from the photo. The one she made for Ashley’s wedding.
Ben had kept it.
On the back, in wobbly crayon:
BEST GRANDPA EVER.
I taped it to my shirt. Right next to Ashley’s blue one.
Maya looked at both ties. Very seriously.
Then she said, Grandpa. When I get married, you have to wear both of them.
I knelt down. I kissed her forehead.
I said, I promise.
