Chapter 15 - The Woman Who Knew My Daughter's Lullaby
The first supervised visit between Amelia and Grace lasted forty-five minutes.
I spent the entire morning pretending I wasn't terrified.
I packed Grace's favorite snacks, her stuffed rabbit, a change of clothes, and the little yellow blanket she had slept with since infancy.
Grayson watched me rearrange the diaper bag for the fourth time.
"Claire, sweetheart, she has everything she needs."
I zipped the bag shut.
"I know."
He approached me.
"You don't have to pretend this is easy."
I looked up at him.
"What if she likes Amelia more?"
The question escaped before I could stop it.
Grayson's expression softened.
"She's a child, Claire. Love isn't something she has to ration."
I wanted to believe him.
But the fear was bigger than logic.
At the family services center, Helen Ward greeted us in a bright playroom filled with colorful blocks and stuffed animals.
Amelia was already waiting.
She wore a pale blue sweater and carried a small gift bag.
When Grace entered, Amelia stood so quickly that she knocked her chair backward.
Then she froze.
I recognized the expression on her face.
It was the same helpless wonder Grayson had shown the first time he saw Grace sleeping in her crib.
"Hi, sweetheart," Amelia whispered.
Grace stared at her.
Then she turned around and buried her face against my shoulder.
I felt Amelia's disappointment like a physical blow.
Helen gently explained that unfamiliar adults could make toddlers nervous and suggested everyone sit on the floor.
For several minutes, Grace refused to leave my lap.
Amelia didn't push.
Instead, she opened her gift bag and removed a small handmade cloth book.
Its pages were stitched with colorful stars, moons, and animals.
"My mother used to make these," Amelia said softly.
She placed the book between us.
Grace peeked over my arm.
Then curiosity won.
She reached for the bright yellow star.
Amelia smiled.
"That's your favorite already?"
Grace babbled something incomprehensible.
And just like that, the room became a little less frightening.
For the next twenty minutes, Amelia followed Grace's lead.
She stacked blocks.
She made ridiculous duck noises.
She laughed when Grace repeatedly knocked down a tower.
I watched from the carpet, overwhelmed by emotions I couldn't easily name.
There was jealousy.
There was grief.
But there was also something unexpected.
Relief.
This woman loved my daughter.
Not because Grace might inherit a fortune.
Not because she represented a chance to appear in society magazines.
Amelia loved her because she had carried her, felt her move, and spent countless nights wondering whether she was safe.
Near the end of the visit, Grace grew sleepy.
I took out her yellow blanket.
Amelia stopped smiling.
"Where did you get that?"
I looked down.
"She had it when we first met her."
Amelia reached toward the fabric, then pulled her hand back.
"May I?"
I handed it to her.
She turned one corner over.
There, almost hidden beneath a seam, were three tiny embroidered stars.
Amelia began to cry.
"My grandmother taught me that stitch."
I stared at her.
"You made this?"
She nodded.
"I finished it two weeks before she was born."
She pressed the fabric against her lips.
"I thought it was gone."
The sight broke something inside me.
I had washed that blanket dozens of times.
I had tucked it around Grace during storms and held it against my face on nights when I couldn't sleep.
I had always considered it part of our family's story.
Now I understood it belonged to a story that had begun before us.
"Would you like to hold her?" I asked.
Amelia looked startled.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded.
Grace hesitated when I passed her across, but Amelia sat perfectly still and allowed her to settle naturally.
Then, almost without thinking, Amelia began humming.
It was a soft lullaby.
Not one I recognized.
The melody drifted through the little room like a forgotten memory.
Grace slowly relaxed.
Her fingers curled around the embroidered corner of the blanket.
I covered my mouth.
Amelia looked at me.
"I'm sorry. I used to sing that while I was pregnant."
"Don't apologize," I whispered.
When the visit ended, Grace reached for me again.
I took her into my arms.
Amelia stood beside us, her eyes bright with tears.
"Thank you for taking care of her."
I swallowed.
"Thank you for letting me see this part of who she is."
For one fragile moment, we were simply two women who loved the same little girl.
Then my phone rang.
Sister Margaret.
"Claire, I've discovered something about Grace's original placement letter."
I stepped into the hallway.
"What?"
"The handwriting examiner found inconsistencies. But that's not what concerns me."
"Then what does?"
"The letter contains a sentence copied from the personal essay you submitted during your adoption application."
My blood ran cold.
Sister Margaret's voice trembled.
"Claire, somebody wrote that letter specifically for you and Grayson."
I looked through the glass window at Amelia holding Grace's handmade book.
May you like
Someone hadn't merely falsified a mother's goodbye.
Someone had studied us, learned what we desperately wanted, and built a lie designed to make us believe Grace was meant to be ours.
