I sipped on my milkshake, a knot of nerves forming in my stomach.
Just then a man with salt and pepper hair walked in to McDonalds.
"Jade!" he said.
I'd just set eyes on my real dad for the first time.
"You look beautiful," he said. "Your mum's done a fantastic job."
I'd always had a Dad-shaped hole in my life.
His relationship with my mum, Liz, had been brief, and they'd lost touch after she'd fallen pregnant with me.
But now that I'd turned 13, social services had put me in touch with my dad, Stephen – and here he was.
We chatted easily and after our reunion we wrote to each other regularly.
As I got older, I fell in with a bad crowd and would often stay out drinking.
One day, when I was 16, Mum and I had a blazing fight.
"Go and live with your father," she screamed. "I can't take this anymore."
So I packed my bags and moved in with Dad and his girlfriend, Sarah.
Despite being strangers for years, Dad and I became close. We spent hours watching soccer matches together in his room.
Three months later, I met my first serious boyfriend, Jay. Dad seemed unhappy.
"Now Jay's in the picture, I hardly see you," he moaned.
So I promised I'd spend more time with him.
One night, after watching a soccer match with him, I fell asleep on his bed.
Suddenly, I awoke to feel someone moving behind me.
Then a hand snaked around my front and tugged at my pants. It belonged to Dad.
"I love your figure," he muttered. "Sometimes I wish you weren't my daughter."
Before I knew it, he'd yanked down my pants and climbed on top of me, forcing himself inside me.
I clenched my fists and shut my eyes as he raped me.
Afterwards, I ran downstairs and sat on the living room floor, sobbing and shaking.
A couple of minutes later, Sarah appeared.
"Are you OK?" she said.
"I just miss Mum," I lied.
When Sarah went to fetch something from the kitchen, Dad walked in.
"That was close," he whispered. "Don't worry, you're safe – I used a condom."
Horrified, I nodded.
After that, I spent more time with Jay, trying to forget what Dad had done.
We started having sex, and it was gentle and kind – not like my father's attack.
A few months later, I was folding laundry when Dad approached me.
"You're so sexy," he said, running his hands through my hair.
I tried to fight him off, but it was no use.
He raped me again.
"We should be close," he said when he was done. "We're father and daughter after all."
I felt numb and worthless.
A couple of months later, I was sitting in Dad's room watching TV when suddenly he lunged towards me.
"Why can't I find a girlfriend like you?" he said, looking evil as he pinned my arms down.
This time, he was brutal with me and didn't use a condom. I was left covered in bruises.
Towards the end of that week, I got a strange feeling and a scary thought ran through my head.
What if I'm pregnant?
Shaking, I took a test, but before I could see the results, I threw it in the bin.
Only, later that day Jay found it and confronted me.
"I can't believe it," he said, throwing his arms around me. "You're pregnant."
Of course, he thought it was his, but I was horrified.
What if it's my dad's? I thought.
Jay was so excited I could never tell him the truth, but I did need to tell Dad.
Jay was in the room with me when I made the announcement.
"I'm pregnant," I told Dad.
He glared at me, and I knew what he was thinking.
Was it his?
"You're too stupid and too young to have a baby," he snarled, obviously scared he was the father. "Get an abortion."
I was 17, far away from home, and I realised I wanted Mum.
When I called her with news I was pregnant, she hit the roof.
But when the shock subsided, she was supportive and in time I gave birth to a daughter with Jay and Mum by my side.
Things took their toll on my relationship with Jay, and just over a year later we split up.
I decided to move back home to be closer to Mum and my stepdad Simon.
Dad's rapes constantly played on my mind.
One minute I was happy, the next I was uncontrollably angry.
Mum thought I had postnatal depression, and my GP prescribed me antidepressants.
But nothing helped me forget.
A few months later, my cousin was due to get married.
Dad messaged me as he lived near her.
He said I could stay at his for the wedding.
I didn't reply so he sent me another text…
I'm thinking you're ignoring me and will admit I am worried…
You shouldn't have done it, I replied.
As u know, I can go to prison for it, he wrote back.
My half-sister Bekki peered over my shoulder and saw Dad's message.
"What's he talking about?" she asked, puzzled.
I swallowed hard.
"He's just admitted he raped me," I blurted out.
Bekki stared at me in shock.
"You need to tell Mum," she gasped.
So I sat Mum down.
"There's something I need to tell you," I said. "Dad raped me…three times."
She was distraught.
"No!" she cried. "He was supposed to protect you."
Together we went to the police station.
He was arrested the same day.
Officers offered me a DNA test so I could finally discover who the father of my daughter was.
Three weeks later, I received the results.
It was Jay's.
Of course I was relieved but I was also disgusted.
It meant my Dad had raped me while I was pregnant.
In time, my dad, Stephen Waters, 46, appeared in court where he denied three counts of rape.
I was shaking but faced him and gave my evidence.
He told the court he fancied me and said I'd never fought him off.
But the jury saw him for the monster he was.
He was found guilty and jailed for 12 years. It felt like a huge weight was lifted.
Now, I'm trying to make something positive come from this.
I'm planning to train as a counsellor to help other rape and sex abuse victims.
Mum and I are also closer now than we've ever been.
She still blames herself for sending me to live with Dad – but he's the only one who needs to feel guilty.