Rose stared at Claire as though she were seeing the baby she had once held, only grown into a woman.
Then she began to cry.
Claire looked at me.
“Mom?”
I told her everything.
Not every painful detail.
Not every secret conversation.
But enough.
I told her about the hospital.
About Rose.
About the photograph.
About the woman who had cared for her before we ever brought her home.
Claire walked slowly toward Rose.
Rose’s hands trembled.
Then Claire wrapped her arms around her.
Rose collapsed into the embrace
