Grace’s eyes flickered toward the sound. Her lips trembled. “That’s her, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I’ve raised her since the day she was born,” I said quietly. “She calls me Mom. She’s my whole world. You can’t just come here and take her away.”
Grace’s expression softened, but her voice stayed steady. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just needed to know what happened. For years I thought my baby had died along with your sister.”
Her grief was real. And that realization complicated everything I was feeling.
“I don’t understand why Laura didn’t tell us,” I admitted.
Grace shook her head. “Maybe something changed for her when she felt the baby move. I wish I knew.”
After she left, I sat on the floor surrounded by paperwork, unable to move. The truth was too big to hold all at once.
That night, after Lily fell asleep, I went into the attic where I’d kept Laura’s things. Boxes of photos, old journals, and folded letters tied with ribbons.
On top of one box was a small envelope with my name. My heart started pounding. I tore it open.
Inside was a letter, yellowed and tear-stained.
