For years, when I was small, my mother told me thestory about my father. It began when she was seventeenand met this guy who looked like a prince. She marriedthe prince, bought a house, and I was born, and I waswonderful. Then one day the prince said he was going"nowhere special, " and he walked out and never cameback. For years, when I was a child, I loved the story, -- and I listened, crying and laughing at all the right.

Now, I'm fourteen, and it's different. It seems to me there's something left out. Who he was, what he was like, why he left us. Why he left me..