Chương 7
Same words.
Same logic.
Same damage.
“Why are they doing it again?”
“I don’t know.”
I believed her.
That scared me.
Because if she was telling the truth, then this was bigger than Evelyn.
Bigger than one social worker.
Bigger than one courtroom.
“Rebecca.”
“Yes?”
“Why contact me now?”
She did not answer immediately.
“I saw the news.”
I looked toward the window.
The blinds were half open.
Outside, cars moved through the street like nothing had changed.
“I saw your name.”
“And?”
“And I recognized it.”
“You recognized me from the news?”
“No.”
Her voice became softer.
“From your father’s old records.”
My heart skipped.
“Daniel had them.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Daniel?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“He sent letters.”
The answer made me sit still.
“Letters to who?”
“To anyone who would listen.”
I remembered the boxes in Daniel’s basement.
Boxes I had never opened.
He always told me they were old paperwork.
I had believed him.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“He knew there was something wrong.”
“Yes.”
“And he still never told me.”
Rebecca was quiet.
“He was afraid.”
The anger returned.
“He should have trusted me.”
“Maybe.”
The honesty surprised me.
“He should have.”
I looked down.
Nobody defended Daniel.
Not even the person explaining him.
“But he was also afraid of losing you.”
I swallowed.
“He thought if he reopened everything, the system might take you away.”
The words landed somewhere deep.
Because that was the same fear I had now.
The fear that loving someone gave other people power over you.
I heard a floorboard creak in the hallway.
I turned.
Leo stood there in his pajamas.
His hair was messy.
“Arthur?”
I quickly lowered my voice.
“Hey.”
“Who are you talking to?”
“Someone from before.”
His face changed.
Before.
Children understood words adults hoped they missed.
“Is it about my family?”
I looked at him.
There was no point pretending.
Not with him.
“Yes.”
He walked closer.
“Are they taking us?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
I corrected myself.
“I mean, I don’t know what happens next.”
He looked down.
That honesty hurt him more than a lie would have.
“But we’re still together?”
I looked at the five backpacks lined against the wall.
Five coats.
Five pairs of shoes.
Five lives that had been placed in my hands without warning.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
Then he walked back toward the bedroom.
At the doorway, he stopped.
“Arthur?”
“Yeah?”
“Whoever you’re talking to.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let them make you give up.”
Then he disappeared.
I stood there holding the phone.
Rebecca had heard everything.
“You have children with you.”
I looked down the hallway.
“They’re my family.”
The line went quiet.
Then Rebecca said something I did not expect.
“Your sister would be proud.”
I closed my eyes.
“Tell me where to meet you.”
A message arrived twenty seconds later.
An address.
A time.
And one sentence beneath it.
Come alone if you want the truth.
I stared at those words for a long time.
Because every instinct I had told me not to go alone.
But every part of me that had spent twenty-two years searching for answers knew I would go anyway.
I did not sleep much that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw different versions of the same thing.
Five children standing in a hallway waiting for someone else to decide whether they belonged together.
A younger version of myself sitting outside a group home with a plastic bag of clothes.
Daniel holding an envelope and choosing silence.
Evelyn Sterling signing papers that changed lives.
My sister Sarah growing up somewhere without knowing I existed.
By four in the morning, I gave up trying to rest.
I went into the kitchen and made coffee.
Then I stood there staring at the mug for ten minutes without drinking it.
That was something Daniel used to do.
He would make coffee and forget it existed.
I used to tease him about it.
“You know the point of coffee is drinking it, right?”
He would look at the cold cup and say, “I was thinking.”
“About what?”
“Usually about why I forgot the coffee.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then the smile faded.
Because I finally understood something I had missed when he was alive.
Daniel had not been avoiding my past.
He had been living with it every day.
At six thirty, I heard small footsteps.
Leo appeared in the doorway wearing the same sweater he had worn yesterday.
The sleeves were too short.
I made a mental note to buy him new clothes.
Then I remembered the math on the table.
The note.
The bills.
The impossible numbers.
“You’re awake early,” I said.
He shrugged.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Nightmares?”
He looked down.
“No.”
I waited.
He sighed.
“Maybe.”
I poured another cup of coffee and filled a glass with juice for him.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
He looked surprised.
“You’re not going to ask again?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes people ask because they want an answer.”
I sat across from him.
“Sometimes they ask because they want you to stop being upset.”
Leo looked at the table.
“You’re different.”
I almost laughed.
“I don’t know if that’s good.”
“It is.”
The certainty in his voice made me uncomfortable.
Kids should not have to judge adults.
They should be able to trust them.
But trust was something Leo had been forced to measure carefully.
“Go wake up your sisters and brother,” I said.
“We have somewhere to go.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Where?”
“To find out why our family was taken apart.”
He did not move.
Then he asked quietly.
“Will we like the answer?”
I had no idea.
“No.”
He nodded.
“I figured.”
The meeting place Rebecca sent was a small diner twenty minutes outside town.
Not the kind of place people choose for important conversations.
It had cracked vinyl seats, old ceiling fans, and a waitress who called everyone honey even when they looked miserable.
May you like
I arrived early.
I hated that I was nervous.
