The day went by, and my father reached out to me. He would be coming to pick me up for dinner at the King’s family house to meet my mother and sister officially.

I didn’t want to dress up so I slipped into my favorite hoodie and a comfortable pair of jeans, the standard attire for a day when I just wanted to feel like myself. It wasn’t like my biological mother haven’t seen me before or my bitchy sister.

Standing in front of the mirror, I assessed my reflection. The hoodie masked ...