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Clara stepped forward slowly. “I know this is a shock. I don’t expect anything from you. I just—when he reached out, I thought, maybe… maybe I’d just get to see you.”
I looked at her. Same eyes. Same tilt to the chin. My throat felt thick.
I turned around and went straight upstairs.
My husband followed me, half-whispering, “I thought this would make you happy. I wanted to do something meaningful.”
I stared at him. “You invited a stranger into our house without even asking me. That’s not meaningful. That’s violating.”
He looked stunned. Hurt, even. But I didn’t care in that moment.
I stayed in our room for most of the morning. Around noon, I came down to find them both gone. A little envelope sat on the counter. “Call me if you want to talk – Clara.”
I didn’t call.
But I did Google her.
Turns out, she’d lived only an hour away my whole life. No criminal record. Worked as a nurse until five years ago. Married once. Widowed. No other kids.
My mind kept drifting. I tried to stop thinking about her. But something was lodged in me now, and it wouldn’t go away.
That night, I asked my husband, “Why did she give me up?”
He paused. “She said you were from a relationship her parents didn’t approve of. She was 20. They made her go away, have you in secret. She never saw you again.”
“And now she wants what—tea? Hugs? Redemption?” I snapped.
He sighed. “She just wants to know you. That’s all she said.”
I didn’t sleep much that night. I kept flipping between anger and curiosity, resentment and guilt. By morning, I was drained.
So I called her.
We met at a diner halfway between our houses. She was already sitting there, clutching a napkin in her lap.
Seeing her in broad daylight made her seem more real. More small, actually. She looked nervous. And older than I remembered from the morning.
I sat down. No hugs. No smiles. Just… started talking.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I said. “But I’m here, so let’s just talk like two adults.”
Her shoulders relaxed a little. “That’s more than I expected.”
We talked for almost two hours.
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