She was talkative, affectionate, and wonderfully particular about how she wanted things done.
Once, while I was tying her hair, she asked an unexpected question.
“Auntie Claire, do you have any kids?”
My hands stopped moving.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.
Then I answered gently.
“I had a little girl, sweetheart. But she died when she was a baby.”
Ellie turned toward me.
Her brown eyes were serious.
“That’s sad.”
“Yes,” I whispered. “It is.”
She thought about that for a second.
Then handed me a pink ribbon.
“This one goes on the left.”
I smiled through the ache in my chest.
Children have a remarkable way of returning you to the present.
I had no idea how important those ordinary moments
would become.
***
Two weeks after Ellie came home, Nora arrived at my house looking devastated.
When I opened the door, she stood on the porch holding a large envelope against her chest.
Her eyes were swollen from crying.
“Nora?”
She tried to speak, but her voice broke.
“Claire, I don’t know how to tell you this.”
Panic rushed through me.
“What happened? Is Ellie okay?”
“She’s fine. She’s with Tom.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
She stepped inside and followed me into the kitchen.
Instead of sitting down, she stood beside the table, smoothing the envelope with trembling fingers.
I pulled out a chair.
“Nora, please. You’re scaring me.”
She sat.
Then she looked directly at me.
“Remember what the adoption agency told us about Ellie’s background?”
I nodded.
“That she’d entered care as a baby and nobody knew who her parents were?”
“Yes.”
“What about it?”
Nora swallowed.
“They’ve discovered that
information might not be true.”
