“Then came eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.”
Her eyes lowered.
“That’s how thirty years passes, Emma. One ‘not today’ at a time.”
“I wish you had told me.”
“I know.”
“But I understand how you got there.”
Her eyes filled again.
“I’m shaken,” I said. “But I’m not angry.”
She gripped my hand so tightly it almost hurt.
When Dr. Reeves returned, he brought a woman with him.
She introduced herself as Agent Morris.
She was part of the investigation into Maplewood House.
She explained that dozens of former children had been identified as potentially having altered records.
Some had grown up their entire lives with inaccurate family histories.
Some had birthdays or names that might not even be correct.
Others had spent decades wondering why parts of their personal histories never quite made sense.
Then Agent Morris looked directly at me.
“I want to make one thing clear immediately,” she said. “Your adoption was not compromised.”
I exhaled.
“Helen and her husband completed everything through proper legal channels. There is no question about the validity of your adoption.”
Some tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying finally left my chest.
Then Agent Morris turned back to Mom.
“During your time at Maplewood, did you keep anything? Records? Photographs? Copies of files?”
Mom went very still.
Then she nodded.
“Yes.”
Agent Morris leaned forward.
“How much?”
“Everything I could.”
