I don't think today is a good day for me to write a story.  I am feeling sad.  I often wonder if that's how my dad felt.  He committed suicide when I was a little girl, so I don't really remember him.  Well, that's what my mom said, but she wasn't there.  I once overheard my aunt say that, “...it was his new girlfriend who killed him, but whose gonna investigate the murder of a black man in the south.”
I have a picture of him holding me.  I was just a baby.  One of my aunts on my dad's side of the family posted it on Facebook.  My sister sent me a screenshot and asked if that was me.  I immediately saved the photo.  I don't have any pictures of him and me.  I was overwhelmed with gratitude that my sister gave that to me.  We have different fathers, and she's never mentioned my birth father before that day.  
In the photo, he is holding me to his chest, cradled in his right arm.  I can only see the right side of his face, but I can tell he is smiling.  He looks at me in wonderment and I know that I was loved.  He is wearing a crocheted knit cap, with curly hair creeping out the sides and covering his ears.  I look just like him.  Creamy light brown skin, puffy cheeks, slanted eyes.  No one could deny that he is my dad.  

– Makini Velazquez

Relationship:  unknown unknown