to show you.”
She was waiting at the door when I arrived.
“You found her?”
I nodded, holding the letters against my chest.
“Her name is Rebecca.”
Anna repeated it under her breath.
“She’s my daughter,” I said. “The little girl Carol and I adopted.”
Her hand went to the doorframe.
I helped her sit on the porch step and lowered myself beside her. For a while, she couldn’t speak.
Then the questions came in a rush.
Was Rebecca healthy? Had she been happy? Was she married? Had someone been kind to her when she was small and frightened?
“She had people who loved her,” I said. “She still does.”
“Children?”
“Two boys.”
Anna pressed her hand over her mouth.
“I have grandchildren.”
I showed her photographs on my phone. She held it carefully, touching the edge of the screen as though she was afraid of losing the picture.
At
