“When?”
“When Sophie was a baby.”
The memory returned clearly.
My husband and I had only recently learned Sophie would be staying with us permanently.
Richard had called first and asked if he could bring a box containing things that had belonged to Isabella and Sophie’s father.
He stayed maybe twenty minutes.
He looked exhausted.
Before leaving, he rested one hand on the box.
“Give these to her when she’s old enough to ask,” he’d said.
Then he looked at baby Sophie sleeping in my husband’s arms.
“Just don’t let her grow up thinking they didn’t love her.”
I’d remembered those words for years.
I’d simply forgotten his surname.
Mr. Harris covered his mouth.
“My father knew where she was.”
“Yes.”
“He never told me.”
The hurt in his voice was unmistakable.
Then he looked at Sophie, and his expression softened.
“I knew you survived,” he told her. “Dad told me you were safe and that a family was taking care of you. I wanted to find you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“He asked me not to.”
Sophie frowned.
“Why?”
Mr. Harris paused.
“He said you’d already lost your mom and dad. He didn’t want strangers appearing and frightening the people taking care of you. He told me that when you were older, there would be time.”
He smiled sadly.
“I suppose he thought we had more of it.”
Richard died three years later.
Mr. Harris had known Sophie existed as a baby, but never learned the name she’d been given after her adoption or where Richard had found her new family.
And I’d never known the quiet older man on our porch had a son who would eventually become principal of Sophie’s elementary school.
Sophie tugged my sleeve.
“Mom?”
I looked down.
“Is the box still there?”
My stomach tightened.
“Yes.”
“Can I see it?”
I knew she meant everything inside, not just the clipping.
I’d shown Sophie the box before and let her see a few photographs, but I’d never allowed her to go through it herself.
I kept telling myself I was waiting until she was old enough to ask.
The truth was, she’d been asking for years.
Did my first mommy have brown eyes?
Did she like swimming?
Was my first daddy funny?
I’d answered whatever I could.
I’d simply decided those questions didn’t count.
