The little blue tattoos were one of the few pieces of evidence that couldn’t easily be rewritten.
“A document can be altered,” he said. “A mark someone has carried on their skin for decades is different.”
Then he looked directly at my mother.
“Helen, were you connected to Maplewood House?”
Mom looked at me.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then something in her expression changed.
It was as though thirty years of avoiding one conversation had finally ended.
“I worked there,” she said.
I stared at her.
“As a nurse.”
“What?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Emma, there’s something I should have told you years ago.”
My heart started pounding.
“I tried many times. I really did. But every time I thought I was ready, I became afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
She took a shaky breath.
Then she said the words that changed everything I thought I knew about my life.
“You weren’t born to me.”
I couldn’t speak.
