Chapter 6 - The Promise I Made Beside Her Christmas Tree
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When I returned home, I found Renee sitting cross-legged in the living room with Rosa.
They were decorating a small Christmas tree that had been standing near the fireplace for weeks.
Rosa had brought out a box of handmade ornaments.
Paper angels.
Wooden snowflakes.
A crooked silver star Renee had painted herself.
The moment she saw me, my daughter ran across the room.
“Daddy!”
I lifted her into my arms.
“Did you have breakfast?”
She nodded.
“Rosa made pancakes shaped like hearts.”
I looked over her shoulder.
Rosa smiled.
“She ate three.”
“Four,” Renee corrected proudly.
I laughed.
For a moment, I almost forgot about the letter.
Then Renee touched my cheek.
“Daddy, are Grandma and Grandpa mad at me?”
My smile disappeared.
“Why would you think that?”
She looked down.
“Grandma said I make everything difficult.”
I sat with her on the sofa.
“Renee, look at me.”
She lifted her eyes.
“You are not difficult. You are not unwanted. And you are never responsible for making adults happy.”
Her lower lip trembled.
“But Grandma said real grandchildren get presents.”
I felt anger rise in my chest.
I pushed it aside.
My daughter needed comfort, not my rage.
“Sweetheart, some people say things that are cruel and wrong. Being grown up doesn't make them right.”
She thought about that.
Then whispered:
“Am I really your daughter?”
The question nearly destroyed me.
I placed my hand over her heart.
“Do you know what happened the first time I met you?”
She shook her head.
“You gave me Button to hold.”
Renee looked toward the stuffed rabbit resting beside her.
“And do you know what happened after that?”
“What?”
“I spent every day hoping I'd get to be your daddy.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Really?”
“Really.”
She hugged me tightly.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you more than every star over Chicago.”
Later, after Rosa took Renee upstairs to change clothes, I called Gabriel into my office.
“I want our household arrangements reviewed.”
He nodded.
“Security?”
“Security, visitors, school transportation, everything. My parents are not to make arrangements involving Renee without my permission.”
Gabriel looked surprised.
“Your parents, sir?”
“Yes.”
He didn't question me.
I also contacted Renee's pediatrician for advice about her irritated hands and arranged support from a child therapist experienced with adoption and family trauma.
I had spent years protecting my daughter from dangers outside our home.
Now I needed to protect her from the emotional damage caused by people she'd been taught to trust.
That evening, Renee approached me carrying a folded piece of paper.
“Daddy, I made another drawing.”
I opened it.
This time, she had drawn herself standing beside me beneath a Christmas tree.
We were holding hands.
Above us, in uneven letters, she'd written:
MY REAL FAMILY.
I kissed the top of her head.
Then noticed something unusual in the corner.
A small blue door.
Beside it stood a woman wearing a yellow coat.
“Who's this?” I asked.
Renee studied the picture.
“The lady from before.”
“What lady?”
She looked at me.
“The one who told me to remember the blue door.”
My heart began pounding.
“Where was that door?”
Renee shrugged.
“I don't know.”
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Then she added:
“But Grandma knows. She took me there once.”
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