“It was easier,” she repeated. “And I have hated myself for that every day since.”
I wanted to ask why one hard year became twenty-five, why she called Grandpa only five times, and why his house mattered first when he was dying.
Instead, Claire asked, “What happened to Daniel?”
Mom looked at Dad, who swallowed.
“His adoptive parents changed his name,” he said. “They moved to Oregon. We received letters for a few years through the agency.”
“Did you answer them?” I asked.
“Some.”
“How many?”
Mom folded her hands. “The last letter came when he was twelve. He asked whether he had sisters.”
Claire’s eyes filled again. “And what did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“Why?”
“Because we were ashamed.”
I gave a humorless laugh.
“You weren’t ashamed enough to tell us.”
Mr. Patel placed another envelope on the table.
“This may help,” he said.
“It was included in the box. Arthur asked me to give it to you after you had read the placement agreement.”
I opened it to a photocopied letter in an unfamiliar hand.
It was dated eight years earlier.
Dear Mr. Arthur,
My name is Daniel. I believe you are my grandfather. I found your name in some old adoption paperwork. I am not writing to cause trouble. I only want to know whether the information I was given is true.
I was told I had two sisters. I would like to know their names, if they are willing. I understand if they are not.
Please write back when you can.
A phone number sat beneath the signature.
Daniel Hart.
I read it twice, then looked at Grandpa’s black notebook.
“He knew Daniel had found him.”
“He did.”
“Did he answer?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Arthur was already ill. He asked me to locate Daniel, but he never authorized me to contact him. He said he needed to speak with you first.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed the decision belonged to you and Claire. He didn’t want to introduce someone into your lives without your consent.”
Claire took the letter and read it.
“He wanted to know us,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And Grandpa didn’t answer.”
“Arthur was afraid,” Elena said. “He worried that contact would reopen wounds he had spent years trying to protect you from.”
Grandpa held me on the porch while Mom stood behind us with a suitcase and letter.
I understood why he hid it.
It proved not just that she left, but that Grandpa watched her go.
“Did he know where Daniel lived?” I asked.
“Do you?”
“I do.”
Claire lowered it. “Is he still there?”
“No.”
The answer hollowed the room.
“Then where is he?”
“Daniel moved to Massachusetts five years ago. He works as a civil engineer. He is married and has a daughter.”
A child—a niece I never knew existed.
Dad stared at Elena. “How did you find all that?”
“Arthur asked me to.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Because Arthur was my client.”
The tiny strip of plastic carried the name of someone whose life had continued without us.
“Does he know about me?” I asked.
“Not by name.”
“What does that mean?”
“Arthur told him that his sisters were alive and that he hoped they might someday be ready to speak with him. He did not provide your identities.”
“Why not?”Because he wanted you to have a choice.”
Choice.
