Chapter 7 - Lily Had Been Asking About Me Too
The first letter began:
**Dear Logan,
I don’t know if you know I exist.**
I had to stop reading.
Mom put one hand near mine but didn’t touch me until I nodded.
Then I continued.
Lily wrote about school.
She hated algebra.
Loved biology.
Played goalkeeper in soccer.
Had broken her left wrist at twelve falling off a skateboard she was explicitly told not to ride down a hill.
She had a dog named Baxter.
She loved lilies even though she knew the irony was ridiculous.
Then:
My parents told me your name when I was eleven. They said my first family might tell you about me someday. I hope they do.
The second letter was harder.
I turned fourteen today. That means you did too. I keep wondering what you look like now. I know this sounds weird, but sometimes I wonder whether you hate olives too or whether that’s not how twin stuff works.
I laughed.
Then cried because I hated olives.
The third letter was not angry.
That was almost worse.
I’m fifteen soon. My parents say direct contact has to be handled carefully because there are legal and family issues I don’t fully understand. I’m not trying to replace anyone. I love them. They are Mom and Dad to me. But I want Logan to know I’m alive before we are both adults and the lie gets even harder to fix.
She knew there had been a lie.
The Whitmores had apparently learned from the intermediary attorney that my family described her as deceased.
They were horrified.
They did not immediately contact us because they feared violating the closed-adoption agreement and destabilizing both teenagers without professional preparation.
Instead, Lily asked to send the birthday package.
The photograph.
Her hospital bracelet.
A copy of the original adoption summary she was legally permitted to possess.
And the note.
I looked at Grandma.
“You were going to hide this too.”
Margaret began crying.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because once you opened it, there was no way back.”
May you like
I stared at her.
“That was the point.”
