Not My Dad? Here’s the Truth About Who I Really Am
She said it like flipping a switch: “You’re not my dad.” It didn’t make me angry. It just emptied me out. Ten years of bike lessons, scraped knees, school plays, first heartbreaks—and I was just “Mike.” I stood up for myself. “In that case,” I said calmly, “you don’t get to treat me like a…
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