John covered his mouth.
The sonogram was dated six weeks after prom. In the letter, Livia wrote that she had suspected before that night but had been too scared to take a test.
The date on the hospital bracelet told me Rose was three months old.
“I wanted Mom today,” she wrote. “I wanted her so badly I dialed half her number. Then I remembered what she said when Mrs. Parker’s daughter got pregnant: ‘Some girls throw their whole future away and expect applause.’ I hung up before the phone rang.”
John whispered, “Open the one for you.”
“I wanted Mom today.”
I didn’t want to, which meant I had to.
“Mom,
If you’re reading this, please don’t punish Liam. I asked him to keep my secret.
I have a daughter. Her name is Rose. I named her after Grandma because I wanted one piece of home that didn’t hurt.
I don’t know if you can forgive me. But I need to know if you can love me without owning me.
If yes, ask Liam where I am.
If no, please let me stay gone.”
“If you’re reading this, please don’t punish Liam.”
I pressed the letter to my chest.
“We have a granddaughter,” John whispered.
I grabbed my phone.
“Camila,” he said. “Wait.”
“No. I’m calling Liam.”
“Don’t call him like you’re about to put him on trial.”
The words hit because they sounded like Livia.
“We have a granddaughter.”
I stared at the phone until my breathing slowed. Then I called.
Liam answered on the second ring.
“Mom?”
I looked at the torn beanbag, the dress, the letters, and the baby I had never held.
“Come home,” I said.
The line went quiet.
“You know what I found,” I said.
I looked at the torn beanbag.
He didn’t answer.
He arrived just after dark. His backpack slid off his shoulder.
“You knew she was alive?” I asked.
His eyes filled. “Yes.”
I slapped the letters against his chest.
“You let me bury her every day.”
His face changed.
“No, Mom. You kept digging the grave because it was easier than asking why she left.”
He arrived just after dark.
“I am your mother.”
“And she’s my twin.”
“You hid my grandchild from me.”
“Rose isn’t a prize you lost,” Liam said. “She’s a baby Livia was scared to bring near you.”
The room tilted.
“I loved her. I gave her everything.”
“Everything except room to disappoint you.”
“You hid my grandchild from me.”
John stood in the doorway.
I turned to him. “Tell him I only wanted to protect her.”
John looked at the letters on the floor.
“Camila,” he said quietly, “sometimes you don’t give people room to be themselves.”
“Don’t.”
“I kept quiet because it was easier than standing between you and the children.”
Liam wiped his face with his sleeve.
“Tell him I only wanted to protect her.”
“You both made the house feel like a courtroom,” he said. “Mom judged, Dad settled, and Livia and I waited for the sentence.”
Nobody spoke after that.
Finally, I picked up Livia’s letter.
“Where is she?”
Liam shook his head.
“Liam.”
Nobody spoke after that.
“No. Not if you’re going there to drag her home.”
“I need to see my daughter.”
“Then don’t arrive like the reason she left.”
I hated him for saying it.
I loved him for saying it.
I sat with the torn beanbag beside me and the letters around my knees.
“Tell me how not to scare her,” I said.
Liam wiped his face. “Start by not making the first sentence about you.”
“I need to see my daughter.”
***
The next morning, he gave me the address. John drove. I held Livia’s letter.
Natalie opened the door before I knocked twice.
A curtain shifted in the house next door.
For once, I didn’t care who saw me humbled.
“Camila.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
My old anger rose fast. I almost raised my voice.
“You had no right.”
