Robert moved again. Then Mom and my father moved.
Anna married and changed her surname.
By adulthood, the misunderstanding had hardened into something worse than anger.
Fear.
Anna was afraid to discover Margaret truly hadn’t wanted her.
Margaret was afraid to force herself into the life of someone who had once sent her card back unopened.
“I thought about her every birthday,” Mom said.
Helen nodded.
“So did she.”
I was still staring at the photograph of myself.
“The baby Margaret needed more than me.”
For the first time, I understood why Mom had never told me.
“You thought I’d feel guilty.”
She looked at me.
“I thought you’d think I wished you’d been her.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
The answer came so quickly it almost hurt.
Mom grabbed my hand. “I loved Anna. Then I had you. One didn’t erase the other.”
Her eyes moved to the photograph.
“I spent years telling myself maybe it was better not to talk about her. I never wanted my daughter growing up thinking she was someone’s replacement. And once you’d grown up, the longer I’d kept quiet, the harder it became to explain why.”
I looked down at the photograph again, at Anna’s words beneath my name.
“So all those years, Anna thought I was the reason she lost you.”
“When she was 12,” Helen said.
I looked at her.
“What about later?”
Helen smiled through her tears. “Later was different.”
