“He wrote.”
She frowned. “Who?”
“Andrew.”
My father appeared behind her. “What’s going on?”
“Heather? What happened?”
I handed Mom the phone. She read the message thread while Dad read over her shoulder.
Mom’s face changed first. “Ted,” she whispered. “He wrote to her.”
Dad swore under his breath.
Leo looked between us. “You didn’t know?”
“If I’d known that Andrew wanted to be involved,” my father snapped, “I’d have gone to that house myself.”
“Ted,” Mom said.
“He wrote to her.”
“No, Lucy. That woman let our daughter think she was abandoned.”
His voice cracked on the last word, and that was what finally broke me.
It was my father almost crying in my kitchen because someone had stolen years from me and from Leo.
My son crossed the room and put his arms around me.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t know it was going to be like this.”
I pulled back and grabbed his face. “Don’t apologize for telling me the truth, honey. I need you to know that I’m not mad at you.”
His voice cracked on the last word.
His eyes were wet, too.
“So, he didn’t leave?” he asked.
I pressed my hand over my mouth and shook my head.
“No, baby. I think he was kept from us.”
The kitchen went silent.
A minute later, Leo said, “Gwen wants to meet us. She says she still has the box.”
That was all it took to get us moving.
The kitchen went silent.
***
By six, Leo and I were in my car heading two counties over, with my parents following in Dad’s truck like this was now a family operation.
Leo kept rereading Gwen’s messages. I kept both hands on the wheel because if I let go, I thought I might come apart.
Gwen lived in a small white house with flowerpots drooping on the porch. My parents promised to stay in the truck unless we needed them. She opened the door before we knocked.
She had Andrew’s mouth. That nearly took my knees out.
Leo kept rereading Gwen’s messages.
“Heather?” she asked.
I nodded.
She started crying. “I’m so sorry.”
Then she looked at Leo and covered her mouth. “Oh my God. Sweetie, you look just like him.”
Leo glanced at me, helpless.
I stepped forward and hugged her.
“I’m so sorry.”
***
Inside, she didn’t waste time.
“The box is upstairs,” she said. “It has as many of his letters as I could find.”
“You really have all of them?” Leo asked quietly.
Gwen nodded. “I found them after our mother died last winter.”
She led us up to the attic. It was hot and smelled like old paper.
Then she knelt by a storage bin and lifted the lid.
“The box is upstairs.”
Letters. Stacks of them, along with birthday cards and returned envelopes, my name in Andrew’s handwriting.
My legs gave out, and I sat on the floor.
Leo dropped beside me.
Gwen handed me the first envelope with both hands, like it might tear.
“Start there,” she said.
I opened it.
Leo dropped beside me.
“Heather,
I know this looks bad. Please don’t believe I left you. I’m trying to come back. I promise.
— A.”
The air left my lungs.
“Mom?” Leo whispered.
I couldn’t answer. I grabbed another letter.
“I don’t know if you hate me. My mother says you do. I don’t believe her, but I don’t know how to reach you otherwise.”
“Oh no, no, no,” I muttered.
