My daughter’s hospital bracelet had sat beside my bed for five years. Two weeks after my sister adopted a little girl, she arrived crying with an envelope. Inside was the name of the hospital where I’d given birth and a test result she said I needed to read myself. Then she begged me to forgive her.
“Claire, please sit down. I don’t know how to tell you this.”
My sister, Nora, stood in my doorway with a crumpled envelope pressed against her chest.
