“So you gave me to Helen.”
She told me Rose was her oldest daughter. She had married a man the family hated. He died in a crash before I was born. Rose died six weeks after giving birth, officially from complications. Grandma never believed that story. Rose had been terrified before she died. She kept saying her uncle wanted the trust redirected.
“So you gave me to Helen.”
“I put you where I thought I could still watch you.”
“Did Helen agree?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Yes.”
“And Dad?”
She looked away.
I said, “He threw me out.”
“I know.”
“He said I should’ve never existed.”
When I walked into my parents’ house that afternoon, everyone was there.
Tears filled her eyes. “He meant the claim. The fight. The danger.”
“I’m not a claim,” I said. “I’m a person.”
She cried then. “I know.”
I stood up. “I’m going back there.”
“Don’t go alone.”
“I’m done being handled.”
Ava looked like she hadn’t slept.
When I walked into my parents’ house that afternoon, everyone was there.
Mom. Dad. Ava. Luke.
Ava looked like she hadn’t slept.
Dad stood first. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I dropped the file onto the table. “Apparently, I should have been here under a different name.”
Ava whispered, “Oh my God.”
Dad reached for the file. I pulled it back.
Luke said, “What is going on?”
I looked at him. “You really didn’t know?”
He shook his head. Ava did too.
That tracked. They were born years later. Rose was barely discussed in our house. Anytime her name came up, Dad shut it down and Mom changed the subject.
Dad reached for the file. I pulled it back.
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened. “You have no idea what this will start.”
Mom finally spoke. “Please sit down.”
I looked at her. “Did you ever plan to tell me?”
She started crying. “I wanted to.”
“But you didn’t.”
Dad ignored him.
