“Yes.”
I stared at her.
“He knew Rachel had a son. He knew Leo needed a family. And he knew Ethan and I were trying to adopt.”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t he tell me?”
Mom folded her hands together.
“Because he was afraid you would say yes for the wrong reason.”
“What does that mean?”
“He thought that if you knew Leo was your nephew, you might adopt him because you felt guilty. Because you wanted to repair what Daniel had done to Rachel.”
“So instead, he quietly pushed me toward Leo?”
“He wanted you to choose Leo because you loved him.”
Mom swallowed.
“Not because he was Rachel’s child.”
I shook my head.
“That still doesn’t make what Dad did okay.”
“No.”
“He still made the decision for me. He just did it silently.”
Mom’s eyes filled.
“He was ashamed. I think he convinced himself that staying silent wasn’t the same as lying.”
“It was.”
“He always said things were complicated.”
“They were.”
I looked at her.
“But complicated doesn’t give someone the right to decide which truths you’re allowed to know.”
That night, Ethan found me standing outside Leo’s room.
“You’re afraid to tell him.”
“What if he hears ‘nephew’ and starts questioning ‘son’?”
“He knows we love him.”
“But we chose him before we knew he was family.”
“Yes.”
Then something occurred to me.
I looked at Ethan.
“How did Leo end up with us?”
“What do you mean?”
“My dad already knew him.”
I frowned.
“Out of all the children we met, how did we end up choosing Leo?”
Ethan went quiet.
Then his expression changed.
“Sophie.”
And suddenly I remembered.
Three years earlier, Dad had unexpectedly asked to come with us during one of our first visits to the adoption center.
“I’ll go with you,” he had said.
At the center, Dad was unusually quiet.
He barely paid attention to any of the children.
Then he touched my arm.
“What about that boy?”
I followed his gaze.
Leo.
He was younger then.
Smaller.
Sitting alone on the floor stacking plastic blocks.
“Have you talked to him?” Dad asked.
“No.”
“Maybe you should.”
So I did.
On the drive home, Dad asked another question.
