The Truth That Made the Coffee Go Cold
We sat down.
Neither of us drank our coffee.
It went cold while the truth warmed the air between us.
I told her everything.
- The attic box marked 1974
- The hospital fire
- The missing twin
- My mother’s note
- The postcard: “I’m doing okay.”
Hannah cried quietly, tears sliding down her cheeks like she’d been holding them back for years.
“My adoptive parents told me my birth mother was young and alone,” she said. “They said she left no name. Only that she was from Iowa and wanted me to have a good life.”
My chest ached for her — and for the sister I never met.
“I don’t know where my sister is,” I admitted. “But I promise you this: you’re not alone anymore.”
“And I’ll help you find whatever answers we can.”
She squeezed my hand across the table.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I thought I’d be searching forever.”
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