He stared at the paper.
“The last thing I said to her was, ‘Fine. Go.'”
He looked toward the window.
“I waited for her to call me.”
I looked at the unopened envelopes.
“And she thought you didn’t want her to.”
Mr. Harris nodded.
The remaining letters covered years.
Isabella wrote about getting married, missing home, and wondering whether Mr. Harris had graduated.
Then came one written after Sophie was born.
Mr. Harris unfolded it with shaking hands.
A small photograph slipped onto the floor.
Sophie picked it up.
Isabella was lying in a hospital bed with newborn Sophie asleep against her chest.
Mr. Harris read silently.
Then something inside him seemed to give way.
“What?” Sophie asked.
He handed me the letter.
Near the bottom was another line.
“If you ever meet her, her name is Sophie. She has your ridiculous dimple when she smiles.”
I looked at Sophie.
She had a dimple in her left cheek.
So did Mr. Harris.
Sophie touched hers.
“She knew you?”
Mr. Harris laughed through his tears.
“She knew me very well.”
Then Sophie asked something that changed the room.
“Did she want me?”
My husband turned toward her.
“Sophie.”
She stared at the photograph.
“My first mommy. Did she want me?”
Suddenly, I heard Richard’s words from seven years earlier.
“Just don’t let her grow up thinking they didn’t love her.”
“Of course she did,” I said.
Sophie looked at me.
“But how do you know?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Mr. Harris looked back at the letter.
“There is more.”
He crouched beside Sophie.
“Do you want me to read it?”
She nodded.
His voice shook.
“Sophie is the best thing we’ve ever done. I didn’t know you could love somebody this much when you’ve only known them for four days.”
Sophie stayed still.
Mr. Harris continued.
“I keep looking at her and thinking I wish my little brother could meet her.”
He couldn’t continue.
He didn’t need to.
Sophie looked at the photograph, then climbed into my lap.
I wrapped my arms around her.
After a while, she whispered, “Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sad?”
“I am.”
“Because I wanted their picture?”
The question caught me off guard.
“No.”
She looked away.
“I didn’t tell you I took it because I thought maybe you’d think I wanted a different mommy.”
