Later that day, while we were working on her school project, she asked me, “Why didn’t you ever leave?”
It hit harder than anything. I told her the truth — that I stayed because I wanted to, because loving her had never been conditional.
By Monday, my name in her phone had changed to “Dad.”
I thought that was the end — a quiet win.
But life had another twist.
That Friday, Zahra received a notice from Jamal’s lawyer: he wanted joint custody — holidays, medical decisions, school decisions, everything.
Our lawyer explained the ugly part: I had no legal standing. I hadn’t adopted her. On paper, I was nobody. A stepfather with no rights.
That crushed me.
Zahra stayed calm. “We’ll fix it,” she said. “If Amira wants you to adopt her, let’s move forward.”
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