My name is Rufus, and I’m 55, born and raised in Indiana. My work in freight logistics has taken me across the country, but no journey has mattered more than the one I’ve shared with my daughter, Emily. She’s 25 now, kind, independent, and seven months pregnant with her first child—my first grandchild.
Emily and I have faced our share of hardship. Her mother, Sarah, my first wife, passed away from cancer when Emily was just fifteen. Those years left a quiet emptiness in our home, and Emily closed herself off emotionally while I tried to stay strong for both of us. Somehow, we made it through, but the experience left lasting scars.
Eventually, I remarried. Linda brought warmth and energy into my life, and her daughter Jesse became part of our blended family. But things were never quite smooth with Emily. Subtle comments, cold behavior, and small jabs left her guarded. Dinner conversations were strained, and Emily often brushed things off when I asked if she was okay. But a father knows, and I could see the tension she endured quietly.
Years passed. Emily built her own life, married a wonderful man, and now she’s expecting. I wanted to make sure she felt welcomed whenever she visited. I prepared the guest room with a new bed and even set up a crib.
Continue reading on next page…