My daughter’s hospital bracelet had sat beside my bed for five years. Two weeks after my sister adopted a little girl, she arrived crying with an envelope. Inside was the name of the hospital where I’d given birth and a test result she said I needed to read myself. Then she begged me to forgive her.
“Claire, please sit down. I don’t know how to tell you this.”
My sister, Nora, stood in my doorway with a crumpled envelope pressed against her chest.
Her eyes were swollen.
“What happened? Where’s Ellie?”
“She’s home with Tom.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“Is she hurt?” I pressed.
“No. She’s fine.”
Nora came inside but wouldn’t sit.
She kept smoothing the envelope with her thumb.
“Nora, you’re frightening me.”
“Is she hurt?”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She pushed the envelope toward me. “You won’t believe what I found out about this child.”
