I Had His Daughter: She Had His Name Chapter 10

I Had His Daughter: She Had His Name Chapter 10

Grant saw me again four years later.

Not because he found me.

Because he spotted Luna in a Charleston foodie vlog.

The clip was three seconds long.

Luna, wearing a little backpack, stood behind the counter handing over a receipt.

“Here’s your sea salt roll, sir.”

Grant hit pause.

Those eyes. They looked like old Mr. Calloway in the photos from his youth.

They looked like Grant as a boy.

That evening, Grant stood outside Full Moon Bakery.

The wind chime rang once.

Behind the counter, Luna was up on her tiptoes, passing a paper bag to the customer in front of her.

“Here’s your sea salt roll, sir.”

The customer smiled and took it.

Grant stood in the doorway. He didn’t move.

Luna looked up and saw him.

She tilted her head. “Mister, are you here to buy bread?”

Grant stared at her for a long time. His eyes slowly turned red.

I came out from the kitchen, saw him, and stopped mid-step.

Then I pulled Luna behind me.

“Mr. Calloway, the shop isn’t able to accommodate you.”

He opened his mouth.

“Stel Luna…”

Luna peeked out from behind me.

“Mommy, does he know me?”

I smoothed her hair.

“No.”

Grant crouched down and tried to hand Luna a gift box.

“Luna, this is for you.”

Luna looked at me, then back at him.

“Thank you, mister, but I’m not allowed to take things from strangers.”

That word, mister, cut deeper than hatred ever could.

Because she didn’t resent him.

She genuinely had no idea who he was.

The next day, Mrs. Calloway came.

She stood in the doorway and watched Luna holding a cup of warm milk, sipping it in tiny

mouthfuls.

Mrs. Calloway asked without thinking, “Is she still picky about milk?”

I glanced at her.

“She was hypoglycemic those first few days after birth. It took a long time to get her healthy.”

The gold christening bracelet slipped from Mrs. Calloway’s hand and clattered to the floor.

Luna looked up, puzzled.

“Ma’am, are you here to buy bread?”

Mrs. Calloway bent down to pick up the bracelet, her hands trembling badly.

“Luna, I’m your…”

She wanted to say, I’m your grandmother.

But the words caught in her throat, and she swallowed them back.

I crouched down and said to Luna, “This is Mr. Calloway’s mother.”

Luna nodded.

“Hello, Mrs. Calloway.”

Mrs. Calloway didn’t dare correct her.

She choked out, “What a good girl.”

Later, Grant applied for visitation through his lawyer.

I didn’t refuse.

The visitation agreement was very specific: once a month, in a public place, no longer than two hours, no taking the child anywhere alone, no emotional appeals, no leading questions, no

disparaging anyone.

At the first visit, Grant crouched in front of Luna, his voice unsteady.

“Luna, I brought you a present.”

Luna looked at him.

“Thank you, mister.”

He wanted to correct her. But he was afraid of scaring her.

In the end, he just set the stuffed animal on the bench.

Luna didn’t pick it up.

Over time, he learned to be quiet.

Once, Luna was sharing cookies and offered him one.

“Here, mister. You have one too.”

Grant took it. His hand wouldn’t stop shaking.

Luna felt no hatred toward him. But no closeness either.

She simply treated him as a man she saw now and then. An ordinary stranger.

In Luna’s world, there had never been a space reserved for a father.

During one of the visits, Grant stood behind me.

“Stella, can I try again? With you?”

I didn’t turn around.

“No.”

He said, “I can wait.”

I watched Luna running toward me with a stick of cotton candy.

“Don’t wait.”

“My life doesn’t have room for you anymore.”

The year Luna turned six, I opened a second shop.

On opening day, she stood by the entrance handing out balloons to customers.

Grant stood across the street. He didn’t come over.

Mrs. Calloway stood even farther away, holding a gift box.

They had finally learned not to intrude.

That evening, Luna leaned on the counter and asked me, “Mommy, is he my daddy?”

My hand paused on the bread knife.

Then I crouched down and looked into her eyes.

“Yes.”

Luna thought about it for a long time.

“Do I have to love him?”

I shook my head.

“No.”

“You can wait until you’re older and decide for yourself whether you want to know him.”

Luna nodded, then ran back to the door to hand out more balloons.

The wind chime rang once.

The Full Moon Bakery sign glowed to life in the evening light.

From that day on, I was nobody’s leftover.

And Luna was nobody’s debt.

We were simply ourselves.