“Emily, before I show you this, you need to know that Vanessa has been trying to establish her biological history for several years.”
I turned toward Vanessa.
She was crying openly now.
“My adoptive mother died two years ago,” she said.
“After her funeral, my father gave me some papers she’d kept.”
I stared at her.
“Adoptive?”
Vanessa nodded.
“I always knew I was adopted.
My parents never hid that from me.
But they believed my birth mother had voluntarily given me up.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“My mother kept letters,” Vanessa continued.
“Letters from the agency.
Copies of medical records.
A photograph of the hospital where I was born.”
She reached into her bag.
Her hands shook as she removed a small velvet pouch.
Inside lay a silver bracelet.
An infant’s bracelet.
Tiny.
Delicate.
With one crooked star engraved beside the clasp.
I knew that bracelet.
My mother had bought it before my daughter was born.
