“Carol.”

I stared at her.

“You knew about Carol?”

“Only what Ruth told me.”

“That we’d already started something?”

Anna nodded.

“She said you’d chosen Carol before I’d even left town.”

“But that wasn’t true.”

“I know that now.”

Then Anna hesitated.

“There’s more.”

My stomach tightened.

“What?”

“Carol was there that day.”

“At my mother’s house?”

“Yes. She’d stopped by with a casserole. Ruth thought she’d already left, but she was still in the parlor.”

I couldn’t move.

“Carol heard what my mother said to you?”

“Every word.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she told me. About fifteen years ago, she tracked me down through my sister and sent me a letter. I never answered.”

My throat tightened.

“So she knew why you left.”

“Yes.”

“And all those years, she watched me believe you’d walked away because you didn’t want me.”

Anna looked down.

“I’m sorry.”

“She said nothing… and then she married me.”

“I’ve wondered for forty years whether she ever told you.”

“She didn’t.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

“I’m not telling you to hate her,” Anna whispered. “I’m telling you because your wife sent you here, and I think she wanted you to finally know.”

I looked at her.

“Anna, did you ever try to find our daughter?”

“Of course I thought about it.”

“But did you look?”

“I couldn’t. It was a private adoption. I didn’t know the family’s name, where they lived—anything.”

And suddenly, something clicked into place.

“My mother arranged it.”

Anna frowned.

“What?”

“If anyone kept records, she did.”

I pushed myself away from the table.

“I think I know where to look.”

I stood so quickly the chair scraped across the floor.

“Walter.”

“I’m sorry. I have to go.”

One thought followed me during the entire drive home.

Carol hadn’t asked me to forgive my mother.

She’d asked me to forgive her.

So what exactly had Carol done?

—

By dawn, I was searching my mother’s attic.

At the bottom of an old box, I found a shoebox sealed with tape.

PRIVATE. DO NOT OPEN.

Inside were yellowing letters exchanged with a woman named Marjorie.

I read the first letter twice before I understood what it meant.

‘Dear Ruth, the young woman arrived Tuesday. She is nearly six months along. She still asks whether Walter knows about the child. I assured her, as you instructed, that contacting him would only make matters worse.’

My hands began to shake.

The next letter was dated four months later.

‘The girl has finally signed the surrender papers. She remains convinced Walter has begun a new life and does not want to be contacted.’

I stopped breathing.

But Anna wasn’t the only person my mother had deceived.

Another letter came next.

‘A local couple has come forward for the private placement. Carol seems especially eager. I understand Walter has been told only that the birth mother requested a closed adoption. Discretion will be maintained as you requested.’

I sank against the attic wall.

Rebecca.

My daughter Rebecca.

Anna’s eyes.