That was enough.
A year of grief slammed into me all at once.
I wanted to run toward her.
I also wanted to scream.
Instead, I gripped the stair railing and said, “Come down.”
She started crying.
“You lied to me.”
“I did.”
“You knew who I was this entire time.”
“I knew where you came from. That isn’t the same as knowing who you are.”
“You locked my whole life in a box.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The answer I had avoided for years suddenly sounded so pathetic.
“Because I was afraid you’d find them and decide I wasn’t your real mother.”
Mallory covered her mouth.
“You were my mother. That’s why finding out that way hurt so much.”
I nodded.
Then I told her the thing she also needed to hear.
“And you let me believe you were dead.”
Her shoulders trembled.
“I know.”
“I searched for you every day.”
