continue to honor your request for discretion.”
I tried to stand.
My knees gave way, and I caught myself against a wooden trunk before sinking onto the floor.
Carol.
The wedding.
The baby we had brought home soon afterward.
I pulled out the next page. It contained the birth date I had written on school forms, birthday invitations, and medical paperwork for years.
Rebecca’s birthday.
A note in my mother’s hand recorded the name we had chosen for her.
There was no other child. No second family I needed to find.
I had raised our daughter.
I had taught her to ride a bike. Waited in the car while she took her driving test. Walked her down the aisle with her arm hooked through mine.
And Anna had missed every day of it.
I covered my face with both hands.
Rebecca’s eyes. That was why Anna’s eyes had seemed so
