“My father knew Leo.”
Ethan rubbed his forehead.
“Okay.”
“Okay? That’s all you have?”
“I’m processing.”
“My dead father secretly visited the child we eventually adopted.”
“I understand why that sounds insane.”
“Sounds?”
“Sophie.”
Then Ethan thought for a moment.
“What if your dad volunteered somewhere? Foster care, mentoring, something like that?”
I stared at him.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Dad used to disappear on Saturdays.”
“Where did he go?”
“He never told Mom. He always said he was helping someone.”
Ethan nodded.
“So maybe he volunteered.”
“And met Leo there.”
“Exactly.”
For the first time, the pieces seemed to fit.
What I didn’t realize was that I had chosen the easiest explanation instead of the correct one.
The next morning, I called one of the social workers who had known Leo before he came to us.
“I think I figured something out,” I said. “Daniel volunteered with Leo, right?”
“Daniel?”
“Yes. Mentor, volunteer, something like that.”
There was a pause.
Then she said,
“No.”
One word destroyed the explanation I had spent all night building.
“Then what was he?”
Another pause.
“I’m sorry. I can’t discuss Leo’s historical family records over the phone.”
My stomach tightened.
“Family records?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You basically did.”
“I really can’t tell you more.”
“Did Daniel know Leo’s mother?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Was he related to Leo?”
“I have to end this call.”
Then she hung up.
