I laughed softly.
“It wasn’t much of a ring. But to me…”
I touched my left hand without thinking.
“…it was everything.”
“What happened?”
“My father.”
I didn’t need to say anything else.
Mia’s expression changed.
“He threatened him.”
“He told Daniel if he ever came near me again, he’d have him arrested.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
I shrugged.
“He said people like my father always found something.”
My voice caught.
“I never even got to tell Daniel I was leaving.”
Mia stared at me.
“He never abandoned you.”
“No.”
I smiled sadly.
“He spent weeks looking for me.”
“How do you know?”
“I found out years later.”
I folded my hands together.
“After my parents died, I cleaned out their attic.”
My throat tightened.
“I found an old shoebox sealed with yellowed masking tape.”
Mia leaned forward.
“What was in it?”
“Letters.”
The single word hung between us.
“So many letters. From Daniel. From my friends. From people asking where I’d gone.”
My eyes filled.
“They’d hidden every one.”
Mia covered her mouth.
“Oh, my God.”
“There was one from Daniel.”
I still remembered every line.
“He wrote that he’d gone to my apartment every day until the landlord told him I’d disappeared.”
“He said he’d never stop looking for me.”
My voice broke.
“But by the time I found the letter…”
I looked away.
“It had been almost 20 years.”
“What happened to him?”
“I finally found him, but it was too late. He’d been killed by a drunk driver three years earlier.”
Mia’s shoulders fell.
“A drunk driver.”
“I found his obituary folded inside the same box.”
Silence settled over the room.
I had cried enough tears for Daniel decades ago.
What remained wasn’t grief.
It was regret.
Regret for the life we’d never been allowed to have.
Mia reached across the coffee table.
She took my hand.
“My mom never knew any of this.”
“I know.”
“She thought…”
Her voice cracked.
“She thought he left because you left.”
I closed my eyes.
“My parents destroyed more than one family.”
For several moments, neither of us spoke.
Finally, Mia asked, “Did you ever try to find Mom?”
I looked at her.
“Every chance I got.”
“I hired two different private investigators. I searched adoption registries. I submitted my DNA to every database I could find. I mailed letters to agencies.”
“I even drove to the hospital where she was born.”
“What did they tell you?”
“They said the records were sealed.”
“They told me to move on.”
I smiled sadly.
“So every birthday…”
I glanced toward the burned-out candle still sitting on the kitchen counter.
“…I made the same wish instead.”
Mia followed my eyes.
“You really wished for her?”
“Every single year.”
Her tears spilled freely now.
“I wish she’d heard you say that.”
My heart skipped.
“What do you mean?”
Mia looked toward the front window.
“My mom still thinks you never wanted her.”
I stood.
“I need to tell her.”
She didn’t move.
“I know.”
I took another step toward the front door.
Again, Mia gently stopped me.
“Please.”
“What now?”
“My mom almost didn’t come tonight.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
