“Why black?”
“Because it was what I had. I couldn’t afford anything else, and I thought the silver thread made them beautiful.”
I looked at the blankets again.
They weren’t threatening.
They were carefully made, with soft fabric and tiny, even stitches.
But I still couldn’t understand why anyone had sent them.
“Where is she?” I asked.
Mom covered her mouth.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“Then where has she been?”
Mom took a long breath. “Your father lost his job before you were born. We were behind on rent. His cousin and her husband had been trying to have a child for years. They offered to take one of you until we could manage.”
I stared at her. “You gave them my sister?”
“I was 27. Everyone kept telling me that two babies would be too much. Your father said we’d lose our home. His cousin promised she’d love the baby as her own.”
