For nine months, I believed my father simply didn’t care about becoming a grandfather. I had invited him to the hospital when Sofia was born, sent him the announcement, and even mailed an invitation to her christening. Yet he never came, never called, and never asked to meet her. I tried convincing myself that maybe he was busy, or perhaps Vanessa, my sister, had been right when she said Dad was overwhelmed and needed space.

Then, at Vanessa’s garden celebration, Dad proudly announced that he was finally going to become a grandfather. Everyone raised their glasses while I stood there holding nine-month-old Sofia. I stared at him, unable to believe what I had just heard. Then I stepped forward. “Nine months ago,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm. “You already became one.” Dad’s smile disappeared. “That’s impossible,” he whispered. And that was when I reached into my purse for the evidence.