“I’ve been talking to my dad.” The words hit me like cold water. My chest collapsed, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe right. Not only did Samaj have me completely fucked up, but so did his lowdown deadbeat father Ashe. After seventeen years of radio silence, this man wanted to play daddy now. I could still see him clear as day, twenty-two years old, standing in the doorway of our tiny apartment, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, telling me he “wasn’t ready for all this responsibility.” Samaj had been teething, screaming his little lungs out, and I was running on maybe two hours of
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