Chương 4
Rachel sat at the edge of the couch, keeping the folder on her lap.
Claire remained standing.
She did not know if sitting would make this feel like a conversation.
Right now it felt more like a negotiation where neither person knew the rules.
“What did you find?” Claire asked.
Rachel opened the folder but did not immediately remove anything.
“I found records that were never supposed to exist.”
Claire frowned.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know.”
“Either records exist or they don’t.”
Rachel looked at her.
“Not when people have reasons to hide them.”
Claire crossed her arms.
“You need to be careful with words like that.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re asking me to believe that someone took my daughter from you.”
Rachel’s expression changed.
Not anger.
Not exactly.
Something closer to pain that had been waiting too long.
“I’m not asking you to believe anything.”
“Then what are you asking?”
Rachel looked down at the folder.
“I’m asking you to stop assuming I know less than you.”
The sentence landed harder than Claire expected.
She wanted to argue.
She wanted to say she had spent six years raising Lily, comforting her through nightmares, teaching her to read, sitting beside hospital beds during fevers.
She wanted to say love had weight.
History had weight.
Every ordinary day had weight.
But Rachel had a weight too.
One Claire had never been forced to carry.
“Show me,” Claire said.
Rachel pulled out several pages.
The first was a photocopy of a hospital record.
The second was a letter.
The third was a photograph of a building Claire did not recognize.
“What is this?” Claire asked.
“A place called Northfield Family Services.”
Claire looked at the name.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Most people haven’t.”
“That was the agency?”
“No.”
Rachel shook her head.
“That was the place that handled mothers before the agency got involved.”
Claire stared at her.
“Handled?”
Rachel noticed the word.
“I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds terrible.”
“It was.”
Claire looked back at the papers.
“Then why haven’t I heard about this?”
Rachel gave a small, tired laugh.
“Because people who want something forgotten usually make sure nobody knows the name.”
Claire picked up the letter.
The paper was old.
The edges were worn.
The handwriting was different from Rachel’s.
She read the first sentence.
Dear Rachel, your situation has been reviewed.
She stopped there.
The wording made her stomach tighten.
Reviewed.
Not helped.
Not supported.
Reviewed.
“What situation?”
Rachel looked toward the window.
“I was seventeen.”
Claire lowered the paper.
Seventeen.
The number changed the shape of the room.
“I didn’t know.”
“No.”
“You were a child.”
Rachel swallowed.
“I was old enough for people to expect me to understand everything.”
Her fingers tightened around the folder.
“But young enough for everyone else to decide things for me.”
Claire sat down slowly.
The anger she had been holding did not disappear.
It just became more complicated.
“What happened?”
Rachel looked at the floor.
“My parents found out I was pregnant.”
Claire waited.
She could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen.
Outside, a truck passed slowly down the street.
A dog barked somewhere nearby.
Normal sounds from a world that did not know anything had changed.
“My father said I had ruined my life,” Rachel continued.
“My mother cried for three days.”
Claire did not interrupt.
“They found Northfield through someone they knew.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
Rachel looked embarrassed.
Even now.
After all these years.
“I was seventeen, Claire.”
The way she said it was not defensive.
It was simply a fact.
“I was scared all the time.”
Claire looked at the papers again.
“And Thomas Vale?”
Rachel’s face changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
“You know that name.”
Rachel did not answer.
“Rachel.”
“He was Lily’s father.”
Claire felt the room become smaller.
“Why didn’t you say that before?”
“Because I thought it didn’t matter.”
“How could it not matter?”
Rachel looked at her.
“Because he was gone.”
The answer was immediate.
Too immediate.
Claire noticed.
“What does gone mean?”
Rachel looked away.
“He left before Lily was born.”
“Left you?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know?”
Rachel hesitated.
That hesitation was worse than an answer.
“I don’t know.”
Claire stood again.
“You don’t know?”
“I was told he knew.”
“By who?”
Rachel looked at the folder.
“That is the problem.”
Claire waited.
“The people who told me things were not always the people telling me the truth.”
The sentence stayed between them.
Claire hated that she understood it.
Because for six years she had trusted documents she had never personally questioned.
She had trusted signatures.
Official stamps.
A file with a neat beginning and a neat ending.
Real life had never looked that neat.
“Where is Thomas now?” Claire asked.
Rachel shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“You never tried to find him?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“Every address I found was wrong.”
Claire looked at the photograph of Northfield Family Services.
“How did you get these?”
Rachel was quiet.
“Rachel.”
“I found someone who used to work there.”
“Who?”
“A woman named Elaine Porter.”
Claire waited for recognition.
None came.
“What did she tell you?”
Rachel looked toward the hallway.
Toward Lily’s room.
“She told me she remembered a baby with a yellow blanket.”
Claire stopped moving.
Rachel noticed.
“You know the blanket.”
Claire did not answer.
“Claire.”
“It was in the hospital bag.”
Rachel’s voice dropped.
“The hospital bag?”
Claire nodded slowly.
“The day I brought Lily home, there was a yellow blanket inside.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“No one.”
“You’re sure?”
Claire looked down.
She hated how uncertain she suddenly sounded.
“The nurse said it was with her belongings.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
For a moment, she looked older than she had when she arrived.
“She was supposed to go home with that blanket.”
Claire felt a cold sensation move through her chest.
“What does that mean?”
Rachel opened her eyes.
May you like
“It means someone knew where she was going.”
The statement was too large.
