He was Haley’s real dad and I knew that. In all the ways that counted, he was her real dad. He’d been there for her first word, her first step, losing her first tooth. He’d put band-aids on her scrapes and wiped away her tears. He would be the one to teach her how to drive, and shoot hoops, and glare at her prom date and all of that. I wanted to promise him we’d find her so he could do all of those things, things it seemed to me that a good dad would do. But what did I know about good dads? Even as I tried to find the words to tell him that, the fair-haired man came across the room to me, his hand held out. “We’re going to find her,” he said softly. I looked down at his hand, confused by it. He continued to wait. Slowly, I reached out and folded my hand around his. He squeezed lightly and shook. A good grip. He had a good grip, the kind of hand that told me he wasn’t afraid of work, either. If I could’ve hand-picked a man to be my daughter’s father, I was pretty sure I would’ve picked him.
