The Right to Fatherhood

We have a tradition: every five years, the guys and I get together in Vegas and party. Properly. Binge drinking, casinos, hooliganism.

The Russians vacation… Why not? We can. We know how. We practice.

This time I woke up in a third-rate hotel next to a naked little girl—and… a ring on my ring finger.

We divorced. I could barely remember her face.

But three months later, my car got cut off by a reckless female driver.

The one who claimed that I was a scoundrel who abandoned her pregnant goddaughter and refused to acknowledge paternity.