“I believed that.”
“But?”
Margaret reached into her purse.
She handed me a folded paper.
It was old.
Yellowed.
Typewritten.
Locate female child believed born July 14, 1988.
Adoptive identity unknown.
Confirm location discreetly.
Do not contact.
Below it was a handwritten note.
If found, ensure no claim can ever be made against the estate.Browse Art Prints
Harold’s initials were beneath it.
I stared at the words.
“He wanted to keep me from inheriting.”
“Yes.”
The irony hit me so hard I almost laughed.
After trying to erase me as a baby, my father had spent years searching for me because he was afraid I might one day take his money.
Margaret sat down.
“When I found those papers, I hired someone else to find you.”
“And then?”
“I learned Helen
had died.”
My eyes burned.
“I learned you were raising a little girl alone.”
“And you hired me.”
“Yes.”
“You could have just knocked on my door.”
“I was a coward.”
At least she admitted it.
“I told myself I needed to know who you were first.”
“So you watched me clean your house.”
“Yes.”
“For eight years.”
Her voice dropped.
“At first, I thought I would tell you after a month.”
“What happened?”
“You returned Harold’s ring.”
I nearly laughed.
“That made you delay telling me?”Browse Art Prints
“No.”
Margaret’s eyes met mine.
“It made me realize what kind of person you were.”
She swallowed.
“And I became ashamed.”
“Of what?”
“That you were better than the man who created you.”
The words landed heavily.
“I kept postponing it.
A month became a year.
