Chapter 2: Forgotten Daughters

It wasn’t until I was standing outside the governor’s office that it hit me—I’d agreed way too fast.

The hallway smelled of lemon polish and old leather, with a whiff of cinnamon rolls drifting in from the kitchen. My stomach did a backflip. The portraits on the walls glared down at me, their gold frames catching the light, and my heart pounded like a marching band. Suddenly, my promise to Mrs. Wright felt less like a favor and more like a dare.

Dad never seemed to remember he had a daughter like me, so naturally, the guards at the office didn’t announce me.

As I shuffled from foot to foot, I realized I wasn’t on anyone’s list—not for parties, not for family dinners. The guards stared right through me, like I was just another piece of furniture. I hugged my box of lemon bars tighter, wishing I could disappear.

But Mrs. Wright had given me a whole box of lemon bars. If I didn’t go through with this, I’d have eaten her food for nothing.

I thought of the sweet, tangy taste lingering on my tongue and felt a pinch of guilt. That box meant something to her—she’d trusted me. It felt like a sacred deal, sealed with powdered sugar.

I scratched my head, got an idea, and turned to yell at the office doors.

“Dad! Dad! It’s Maddie! Please open up!”

My voice echoed off the marble floors, way louder than I meant. Secretaries peeked around the corner, eyebrows raised. My cheeks flushed, but I called out again, determined not to back down.

The guards shouted, “Hey! This is an important place. How can a little girl like you be so presumptuous?”

One of them, face red as a tomato, stomped toward me, looking ready to toss me out into the rain. I could tell I was breaking a dozen rules, but I was stubborn—I wasn’t leaving.

They raised their batons, about to push me away.

I jumped back, heart pounding. I knew what came next if I didn’t move fast—their boots were heavy, and they didn’t bluff. I darted sideways, ducking under a guard’s arm.

I ran around the office, yelling, “Dad! Dad! It’s Maddie! Maddie has something to ask you!”

My sneakers squeaked as I tore down the hall, weaving between staff with files and bouquets. A couple of interns gawked, but I kept yelling—sometimes, to be seen, you have to make noise.

“Who’s making all that racket?”

A booming voice echoed from the office, and everyone froze. The air changed, like when the principal walks into the cafeteria. I held my breath, praying for a miracle.

Suddenly, the office doors opened, and a crowd spilled out.

The room emptied in a rush of suit jackets and briefcases. The crowd parted, and I finally saw who I was looking for.

Mrs. Wright had told me: Dad always wore a navy suit with a gold pin.

He stood out among the gray and black, jacket crisp, pin glinting in the hallway lights. My heart thudded—I knew it was him.

I spotted Dad and waved, panting. “Dad, they’re gonna run me ragged! Tell them to chill out already!”

It came out breathless, but I managed a half-hearted wave. The guards hesitated, waiting for the boss’s signal.

Dad waved his hand, signaling them to back off, and frowned at me.

He looked more curious than angry, but I could tell he was trying to figure out who I was. The guards drifted back to their posts, and everyone stared at me like I’d grown antlers.

“You’re Maddie? Which Maddie?”

He sounded genuinely baffled, like the name meant nothing. My heart sank, but I kept my cool.

I knelt down, tapped my forehead to the floor twice, and answered brightly, “Maddie lives in the east wing. My mom’s Linda.”

I tried to sound cheerful, but my voice cracked. The marble was cool and hard under my knees, grounding me.

“Which Linda?”

His old assistant hurried forward, whispering, “She was a housekeeper for Mrs. Thompson. She messed up on her first day, so you never called her back. Later, she had Maddie, and you forgot to give the kid a name.”

The assistant, voice scratchy, spelled it out for everyone. I caught a few sideways glances from the staff. It felt weird, being introduced to my own dad like I was a guest star on his show.