Chapter 2 - The Sister Who Waited
“Our complication?” I repeated.
Esteban paused.
“I understand you’ve had a shock.”
I looked at Alex, who had gone utterly still.
“How do you know I’m home?”
“Your husband called earlier about the baby.”
That was not an answer.
I let the silence stretch.
Esteban continued.
“Sara was a troubled young woman. Your mother helped many people over the years. Some became confused about what that generosity meant.”
“Did you know her?”
“Only enough to know you should avoid making decisions tonight.”
“Then I won’t.”
“Good girl.”
I ended the call before he could say anything else.
For thirty-four years, those words had sounded affectionate.
Now they made my skin crawl.
I turned to Alex.
“Tell me everything. In order. If I find another omission, this conversation ends.”
He sat at the opposite end of the table.
Sara had contacted him through a professional networking site. She recognized him from an article about his construction firm and remembered the boy who used to leave half his sandwich outside her bedroom after bad nights in their foster home.
She had not known he was married to me.
That discovery came later, when she saw our wedding photograph.
“She said looking at your face felt like remembering something she’d never been allowed to remember,” Alex said.
“What happened next?”
“She sent me a childhood photograph. Then the hospital material.”
He had agreed to meet her in Chicago.
He told me that trip had been for a commercial renovation proposal.
I remembered packing an extra sweater in his carry-on.
The memory made my stomach turn.
“Did you have an affair?”
“No.”
“Did you ever wonder whether I deserved to hear that question before tonight?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Yes.”
Sara had hired an attorney to request records. Some were sealed. Others were incomplete. Esteban contacted her after an inquiry reached an agency connected to my adoption.
He claimed the documents were unreliable.
Then he warned Alex that revealing an unverified story could destroy the memory of the mother I had recently lost.
“I listened,” Alex said. “Because I remembered what losing her did to you.”
“You listened because waiting was easier than telling me.”
“Yes.”
At least he didn’t argue.
Sara had become pregnant during those months. Her fiancé, Mateo, died from a sudden illness before their son was born.
She moved to South Florida to take a new job and continue pursuing the records.
Leo was seven weeks old.
Five days earlier, a driver had crossed an intersection against a red light and struck her car.
She died in the hospital.
Leo had been with a sitter.
I pressed the letter flat against the table.
“Was the accident investigated?”
“Yes. There’s a police report. The other driver remained at the scene.”
I nodded, grateful for one fact that did not seem designed to move beneath my feet.
“Why did she name you?”
“She trusted me. We’d talked about emergency arrangements after Mateo died.”
“Did she have other family?”
“Mateo’s mother lives in Tampa. They hadn’t been close recently. The caseworker is contacting her.”
“And our mother?”
Alex’s expression changed.
“Our biological mother,” I corrected.
“Sara was trying to find her.”
I stood before I could say something cruel.
In the bedroom, Leo was awake.
He stared up at the bassinet’s pale canopy, his mouth making uncertain little movements.
I had never imagined meeting a nephew.
Certainly not like this.
I washed my hands, then asked Alex to show me how he liked to be held.
The baby settled against me with a warm, trusting weight that almost broke my heart.
My sister had held him.
My sister, whose voice I had never heard.
Alex watched from the doorway.
“The caseworker can arrange somewhere else tonight.”
“No. Moving him in the middle of the night solves nothing.”
“Then I can stay on the couch.”
“You can care for him until morning. After that, we make arrangements with her.”
He nodded.
I looked down at Leo.
“You don’t have to earn a place here,” I whispered.
He closed his fingers around mine.
At dawn, while Alex prepared a bottle, I found a flash drive taped inside Sara’s envelope.
May you like
On its paper sleeve, she had written five words.
Start with the woman upstairs.
