Daniel had sent Rebecca money for years.
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Hundreds at first.
Then thousands.
Money I remembered arguing about.
‘We can’t afford the specialist camp Ethan wants.’
Daniel had sent Rebecca money for years.
‘We need to be careful this month.’
‘The roof can wait.’
Apparently Rebecca couldn’t.
“While I was counting grocery coupons, you had another daughter?”
I said it to Daniel’s photograph.
Money I remembered arguing about.
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Then I threw the photograph across the room.
It didn’t make me feel better.
The next morning, I checked the transfers.
Every one of them was real.
You had another daughter?
I started with the oldest.
Three hundred.
Then five hundred.
Then eight.
By the time Lily was ten, the payments were almost monthly.
Statement after statement stretched across nearly eighteen years.
By noon, I had three pages of dates, amounts, and accounts.
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The numbers weren’t the part I needed anymore.
It didn’t make me feel better.
I needed Rebecca.
So I called the transplant coordinator. “My name is Laura C. My son was Ethan C.”
There was a pause.
“Yes. I remember.”
“I need Rebecca’s contact information.”
Another pause.
I needed Rebecca.
