Claire laughed through tears.
“You adopted me.”
Edith nodded.
“That part was real.”
“How?”
Edith looked at Margaret.
“Years later, Claire was placed through a different office. I had left the agency by then. My husband and I had become foster parents.”
Margaret felt sick.
“And you recognized her.”
“Yes.”
Claire whispered, “You knew exactly who I was.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Edith cried then.
Not loudly.
She looked old and frightened.
“Because by then you loved us.”
Claire stared at her.
“And you were afraid I might love her too.”
Edith said nothing.
That silence answered enough.
Margaret turned toward the window.
She had imagined this moment in a hundred forms once she knew they were coming.
She thought she might shout.
Demand an apology.
Ask whether Edith knew how many birthdays Margaret had spent wondering if Claire was safe.
Instead she felt tired.
Claire asked, “Did you destroy her letters?”
Edith looked up.
“What letters?”
“My birthday letters.”
Edith frowned.
Margaret watched her carefully.
“The agency was supposed to keep correspondence.”
Edith shook her head.
“I never saw letters.”
Claire looked at Margaret.
For the first time that day, Margaret believed Edith immediately.
