“I lied because it wasn’t my secret.”
Inside Margaret’s small living room the air felt thin. I turned on Patrick first, my voice shaking.
“You let me think the worst. You let me stand there accusing you of things.”
He didn’t flinch. He just met my eyes and said quietly, “I didn’t lie to you for my own sake, Rachel. I lied because it wasn’t my secret.”
I turned to my mother.
“My biological mother.”
“Why the dancing story?”
Her hands trembled around the teacup.
“Because I was ashamed, sweetheart. Sixty-three years old, and I discovered the woman who raised me had kept the truth from me all my life.”
“What? None of this makes any sense,” I said.
“I didn’t know if Margaret would want me.”
“A few months ago, while I was sorting through your grandmother’s things, I found an old letter addressed to me. It was from Margaret — the woman you see sitting beside me. My biological mother.”
She swallowed.
“She had written years earlier after finally finding me, but my adoptive mother hid the letter before I ever saw it.”
“Mom…”
“I didn’t know if Margaret would want me after all this time,” she whispered. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you watching me lose a mother for the second time.”
I was trying to sort out her estate.
Margaret spoke then, her voice paper-thin.
“I was seventeen. I had no choice. I prayed every year on her birthday.”
My mother looked at Patrick before answering me.
“After your grandmother died, I was trying to sort out her estate. Patrick helped me go through years of old files and boxes in the attic. We were looking for bank papers and the deed to the house when we found Margaret’s letter tucked inside an old folder.”
“I’m your granddaughter.”
Margaret met my eyes.
“These Thursdays gave me a reason to open the curtains again.”
Don’t miss
Something inside me cracked open.
I knelt beside Margaret’s chair. My knees hit the rug harder than I meant them to.
“I’m Rachel,” I said. “I’m your granddaughter.”
I stopped on the porch.
Her hand found mine, warm and small and shaking.
I looked up at Patrick.
