Christmas labels.
“Carol.”
The name barely came out.
Vanessa covered her mouth.
I stared at the envelope.
Aunt Carol had helped me survive those first months.
She knew every court date.
Every social worker.
Every address.
She knew where I lived.
She knew how to contact me.
And somehow Vanessa’s letters had never reached my hands.
I looked at the girls.
“Where are the originals?”
Claire shook her head.
“We don’t know.”
I reached for my jacket.
“Then we’re finding out.”
“Tonight?” June asked.
I looked at the three women I had raised.
Then at the sister I thought had forgotten them.
“Yes.”
“Tonight.”
Part 6 — The Letters in the Attic
We left the wedding reception through a side door.
Me.
June.
Ava.
Claire.
And Vanessa.
The girls’ husbands stayed behind to handle confused guests and unfinished cake.
Forty minutes later, we stood outside Aunt Carol’s
