“Why didn’t she find me when she got older?” Mom asked.
There was no accusation in it.
Only pain.
Helen looked down.
“For the same reason you didn’t find her, I think.”
Mom said nothing.
“She was afraid the answer would hurt more than not knowing.”
Years passed.
Robert moved again. Then Mom and my father moved.
Anna married and changed her surname.
By adulthood, the misunderstanding had hardened into something worse than anger.
Fear.
Anna was afraid to discover Margaret truly hadn’t wanted her.
Margaret was afraid to force herself into the life of someone who had once sent her card back unopened.
“I thought about her every birthday,” Mom said.
Helen nodded.
“So did she.”
I was still staring at the photograph of myself.
“The baby Margaret needed more than me.”
For the first time, I understood why Mom had never told me.
“You thought I’d feel guilty.”
