“Did you know me?”
Her silence answered first.
“How long?”
“Natalie…”
“How long did you know I existed?”
“Five years.”
The room tilted.
I put one hand on the back of a chair.
“Five years.”
Rebecca nodded.
“You remembered me five years ago.”
“Yes.”
“And you never called.”
She started toward me.
I held up my hand.
“Do not.”
She stopped.
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The first year.”
“How?”
“I found our old house number.”
“My parents changed that number after they moved.”
“I know.”
“Did you search for the new one?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Rebecca said nothing.
I laughed bitterly.
“And?”
“I found your mother’s Facebook page.”
My mother.
Not our mother.
Your mother.
I heard it immediately.
“So you found us.”
She nodded.
“How long ago?”
“Four years.”
I felt something inside me split cleanly in half.
“You found Mom.”
“Yes.”
“Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Me?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
I stepped backward.
She spoke quickly.
“I wasn’t ready.”
“You watched us?”
“No.”
“You just said you found us.”
“I looked occasionally.”
“Occasionally.”
“Natalie—”
