The first described Anna arriving while she was nearly six months pregnant.
“She continues to ask whether Walter knows about the baby. As you requested, I have told her that contacting him would only cause further trouble.”
I read the sentence again, slowly.
Another letter described the days after the birth. Anna had been reluctant to sign. She had asked again whether I knew. She had cried when they took the baby from her.
I lowered the page.
All those years, I had carried the memory of a girl who didn’t want me. Somewhere else, Anna had been carrying the memory of asking for me and being refused.
Near the bottom of the stack was a letter about the baby’s placement.
“Carol is eager to proceed once the wedding has taken place. Walter understands that the birth mother has requested no contact. We will continue to honor your request for discretion.”
I tried to stand.
My knees gave way, and I caught myself against a wooden trunk before sinking onto the floor.
Carol.
The wedding.
The baby we had brought home soon afterward.
I pulled out the next page. It contained the birth date I had written on school forms, birthday invitations, and medical paperwork for years.
Rebecca’s birthday.
A note in my mother’s hand recorded the name we had chosen for her.
There was no other child. No second family I needed to find.
I had raised our daughter.
I had taught her to ride a bike. Waited in the car while she took her driving test. Walked her down the aisle with her arm hooked through mine.
And Anna had missed every day of it.
I covered my face with both hands.
Rebecca’s eyes. That was why Anna’s eyes had seemed so familiar. I’d looked into them across our breakfast table, in the rearview mirror, in the face of the little girl who asked me to leave the hallway light on.
For a moment, I wanted Carol so badly I almost called her name.
Then I remembered why I was sitting there.
The last envelope was in her handwriting.
“Ruth, I can’t pretend this is right. Walter still thinks Anna chose to leave him. I heard what you said to her, and I should have told him. I was afraid that if he knew, he would go after her.”
I stopped, then forced myself to continue.
“Now you want us to raise their baby without telling him who she is. You say Anna has agreed to the adoption, but she doesn’t know the child will be with us. Neither of them knows enough to make this choice. If Walter ever finds out, how will he forgive me?”
Beneath the letter, my mother had written a reply.
“Then make sure he never finds out.”
I stayed in the attic until the light had moved across the floor.
Downstairs, Carol’s glasses were still on the recliner. I picked them up, folded them, and sat with them in my hands.
I could remember her getting up through the night with Rebecca. The pride on her face at our daughter’s graduation. The way she had cried when our first grandson was born.
I knew she had loved us.
I also knew what that love had allowed her to hide.
For the first time since her death, I was angry enough to want her back so I could ask her how she had done it.
PART 6: What Anna Had Missed
I called Anna before making the drive back.
“I found records,” I told her. “I need to show you.”
She was waiting at the door when I arrived.
“You found her?”
I nodded, holding the letters against my chest.
“Her name is Rebecca.”
Anna repeated it under her breath.
“She’s my daughter,” I said. “The little girl Carol and I adopted.”
Her hand went to the doorframe.
I helped her sit on the porch step and lowered myself beside her. For a while, she couldn’t speak.
Then the questions came in a rush.
