I’d insisted it was too small.
She laughed and said babies were smaller than I imagined.
On the night I went into labor, I’d packed it in my hospital bag.
When I woke afterward, it was gone.
Mark told me the hospital had buried it with our daughter.
I reached toward the bracelet.
My fingers stopped an inch away.
“No,” I whispered.
Vanessa was sobbing.
“My parents were told my birth mother had signed the adoption papers.”
I shook my head.
“I never signed anything.”
“I know.”
“Where did you get that bracelet?”
“My adoptive mother kept it for me.”
My eyes moved from the bracelet to Vanessa’s face.
Her dark brown eyes.
The shape of her mouth.
The small crease between her eyebrows when she was frightened.
I had seen those features somewhere before.
In my own childhood photographs.
In my mother’s face.
In the mirror.
