“What do you want?” His voice was colder than I had ever heard.
“Ryan… was it you? Did you write that message on the box?”
He stepped aside stiffly, and I entered. Inside, I looked around and saw family photographs on the walls.
Ryan with his parents, holidays, and birthdays. My eyes kept going back to his mother. She looked so familiar, but I couldn’t place her. Ryan returned with tea, but I couldn’t stop staring.
“Who is your mother?” I asked. “Why does she look so familiar to me?”
He exhaled heavily. “Because she’s your daughter. Claire.”
My heart stopped. “No… that’s impossible.”
“Didn’t you give up a baby girl for adoption 50 years ago?” he asked sharply.
I staggered. “No one was supposed to know.”
“No one did,” Ryan said. “But before my grandmother died, she told us everything. That’s how Mom and I found out.”
I stared at him, shaking. “So you searched for me?”
“I knew you were alone. I wanted to help you, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Then, when you said you never had children… it cut deep. Because it wasn’t true.”
“It was true,” I said, tears spilling. “I was never a mother to Claire. I was too young, too scared. I thought giving her up was the only way she’d have a chance at a better life.”
“Don’t you regret not finding her?”
“I do. But I didn’t deserve to. I was horrible. I thought she would hate me.”
“She doesn’t,” Ryan said softly. “She wants to meet you. And I want to know my grandmother.”
I covered my face with my hands, sobbing.
“Can I meet her?”
“She’ll be home from work in a few hours,” Ryan said gently.
I looked at him through tears. “Can I hug you?”
“Of course, Grandma.”
I broke down as Ryan wrapped his arms around me. After fifty years of silence and regret, I allowed myself to believe I might not be entirely alone anymore.
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