She sent cards occasionally, but she never asked to speak with you.
I told myself I was protecting you. Maybe I was also protecting myself. I could not bear the thought of watching you ask someone to choose you.
You deserved to know when you became old enough to understand.
I kept waiting for the right day.
Then I ran out of days.”
I lowered the letter.
My father had loved me with everything he had.
But he had also lied to me.
He had decided what truth I could handle. He had taken away my chance to ask questions, feel angry, or choose whether I wanted to contact her.
Mr. Lewis did not try to defend him.
The documents remaining in the bag confirmed every detail.
My mother had willingly signed away custody.
Dad had proposed a visitation schedule.
She had declined it.
No one had forced her to disappear.
She had chosen distance.
Dad had chosen silence.
Both of them had made decisions about what they believed I could live without.
I picked up the family photograph again.
The name of my mother’s daughter was written beneath her image.
Hannah.
“I’m going to contact her,” I said.
Mr. Lewis straightened. “Are you certain?”
“No.”
It was the most truthful answer I had given all day.
For illustrative purposes only
Part Five: The Sister Who Never Knew I Existed
That night, I found Hannah online.
Her profile was filled with the kind of life I had imagined my mother living somewhere far away.
