EXCERPT

It is now over 20 years since this dreadfully painful day transpired.  I remember it vividly as if it happened just now.  I had not seen my daughter in several months, other than the ten minutes I held her in court.  I purchased her a cute, bean bag doll that smelled of baby powder.  When I picked her up for my visitation, I hugged and kissed her while fighting back the pain and tears.  I buckled Sarah into her car seat and gave her the doll.  She held it against her chest with one arm.  I repeatedly looked at her in the rear-view mirror while driving home.  She had a very confused, blank facial expression.  It was then that our eyes met and I heard a soft, tiny voice say, “Yeah, Daddy is home.” I burst into tears and cried the rest of the way home.