letters on his hospital tray. “You told me he knew I was pregnant and didn’t care.”
He stared at the envelopes for a long moment. “Did you ever write back?”
I gripped the edge of the tray. “You let me believe he abandoned us on purpose.”
“You would have run back to him.”
Wesley had never known about our son. All those years, I had mistaken his father’s cruelty for Wesley’s own silent agreement to stay away from us forever.
Back home that night, I opened the second bundle. These letters were newer, addressed to my father, the most recent one dated only four months earlier.
“My name is Cassidy. I believe your daughter, Renee, is my birth mother.”
She’d included her birthday.
I pressed my thumb over the numbers like I could feel them.
“This was the only address I could trace through the adoption registry. Please pass along
my contact information if you’re willing. She doesn’t have to reach out. I just wanted her to know I’ve had a genuinely good life, and that I’m not angry.”
I dialed the number before I let myself set the letter down.
“Cassidy?”
“This is Cassidy.”
“My name is Renee.”
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
Then she asked, “Did you get my letters?”
“Only today. I’m so sorry it took this long.”
***
We met at a small café the following week. Cassidy stood when I walked in, then hesitated.
“Would it be okay if I hugged you?”
I couldn’t answer with words, so I just nodded. She held onto me until I finally stopped shaking.
She asked about my life, and I told her about Wesley and Toby.
“You married my biological father?”
“Does he know about me?”
I shook my head. “I have to tell him, Cassidy. He
