I don’t even remember saying them. But he made sure he never forgot.
“Oh my gosh,” Tina whispers, her eyes wide. “Elle,” is all she can manage.
We both sit in silence for a long time, letting it all sink in.
"I should’ve been part of this family," I say quietly. "It feels like something else that was stolen from me. Not just Izzy, but a whole life I never got to have."
"I’m so sorry, Elle," she says. "Everything would've been different for you."
I nod, unable to speak.
"We would've never met," she says, slinging her arm around my shoulder.
"Cal would’ve been my brother," I murmur, the weight of that unrealized life finally sinking in.
"How does that make you feel?" she asks.
"It makes my heart ache," I say, meeting her gaze.
"Elle, you need to go talk to him."
"I need time to think," I say. "I'm just trying to process what all this means."
"It means that Cal didn't abandon you," she begins. "Look at all the evidence. Johanna's notes were pretty clear.They had every intention of adopting both of you. The only liar in this whole mess is Meghan."
I nod and start collecting all the photos and Cal's letter, tucking them back into the box.
***
After Tina leaves for work, I plop down on the couch and start going through the items in the gift bag again. I try to imagine Izzy sitting down to make them for me—crayon in hand, tongue probably poking out the side of her mouth in concentration.
Then I open the box and flip through the photos, one by one.
This was only one year of Izzy’s life.
I missed nine more.
The thought makes me sick.
I don’t cry, because I feel like I’ve run out of tears. I’m wrung out. Hollow.
I sit with the box in my lap, staring down at the pieces of a life I should’ve been part of. Her life. My life. A life someone else decided I didn’t deserve.
And then it hits me.
I can’t just sit here and let Meghan be an unfinished chapter in my story. This is my life, and I get to decide how the chapter ends. And I’m not settling for anything less than a good ending.
I grab my phone and scroll through my contacts until I find Mick Dawson.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Elle,” he says, his voice steady and gravelly like always. “What can I do for you?”
“I think I need your help again," I say softly.
“Name it.”
“Do you know anyone local who works with nonprofits? Like an attorney or a consultant?”
