Chapter 8 - June's Last Letter
The paper smelled faintly of peppermint. June's handwriting leaned to the right.
Dear Claire, it began. If you're reading this, our boy did something braver than either of us expected.
June wrote about Eli's habit of rescuing worms after rainstorms, his fear of dark hallways, and the way he asked whether his birth mother had liked music. She said she never wanted him to feel that one mother's love had to erase another's.
Near the end she wrote: I tried to arrange help before I got too sick. I trusted people who promised he would be watched over. Please ask where those promises went.
I pressed the paper to my chest. June had loved him enough to prepare him for a future she wouldn't see.
When I shared the letter with Daniel, he read it twice. He still hadn't forgiven me. But he put June's photograph on the mantel beside Lily's school picture.
“A woman we never met raised your son,” he said. “We owe her more than anger.”
That night my mother appeared at our doorstep. She walked past me into the living room, saw June's photograph, and stopped.
“Take that down.”
“No.”
“She was supposed to keep him away from all of this.”
I stared at her. “You knew June?”
Vivian's eyes went to Daniel, then back to me. “I met her once.”
“You told me the adoptive family never wanted contact.”
“They didn't.”
“June wrote you asking for help.”
Mother put on her coat without answering. At the door, she said, “If you keep digging, you'll learn things about yourself you won't survive hearing.”
After she left, Daniel said, “What did she mean?”
May you like
I looked at the old adoption paperwork. One page had a signature I hadn't examined in years. Under WITNESS was my mother's name. Under AUTHORIZED FAMILY CONTACT was an address I recognized.
It was the house where Vivian still lived.
