“You found her?”
“Her name is Rebecca.”
She repeated the name quietly, still trying to understand what I was saying.
“Rebecca?”
I took a breath before giving her the part that had left me sitting on my mother’s attic floor unable to move.
“My Rebecca. The daughter Carol and I adopted.”
Anna covered her mouth as the truth reached her. The child she had surrendered almost forty years earlier had not disappeared into some unknown family hundreds of miles away, because she had been raised by me the entire time.
I told Anna that Rebecca had grown into a good woman and now had a family of her own. When I mentioned her two sons, tears immediately filled Anna’s eyes.
“I’m a grandmother.”
“Yes.”
She lowered herself onto the porch step and cried while I sat beside her. Neither of us knew what to do with the fact that we had spent nearly four decades separated from a daughter who had somehow remained connected to both of us.
