Although I only learned about this woman a few days ago, she has wondered about me for years. She’s worried for me since the day I was taken away. There must have been a large part of her that feared she would never know what happened to her daughter. Her life has been defined by tragedy; it’s not in my nature to shut the door on her.
“Would you like to come inside?”
She nods, looking over her shoulder before entering. She looks around my living room as though it’s a playhouse or a movie set. Taking in each item, committing it to memory. She sits at the breakfast table, her handbag still hanging from the crook in her arm.
“Do you have any idea who I am?”
“I do.”
Ever since Mom admitted her real name is Sarah Paxton, I’ve been struggling to accept the truth about my childhood. Part of that means admitting this woman in front of me, Amelia, might be my biological mother.
“You have to understand, it’s been over thirty years. After so many false leads and dead ends, to hear that they’d actually found you… that they’d actually made an arrest…” She stops, struggling to put her feelings into words. “I just had to see you. It’s like I couldn’t stop myself.”
Found you. Baby Caroline. Her daughter that was taken. My shame at being at the center of this lifts momentarily, and part of me hopes it’s true. If, for no other reason, to spare this woman more pain. Seeing the grief on Amelia’s face makes the horror of what Mom did all those years ago much more real.
“I didn’t know about any of this until a few days ago,” I say, looking away. “I’m still in shock, really.”
“That’s understandable. You must have so many questions.”
I do have questions, and with Mom in the hospital, I’m not sure if they will ever be answered. And yet, Amelia sits in front of me. She’s a stranger, but she would know at least a little about my past. About the life I could have lived, if I hadn’t been taken.
“I’m getting most of my information through Eileen’s attorney.” This seems like the best way to address my mother. I’ve never known her as Sarah, but calling her Mom in front of Amelia seems cruel. “If what the police are saying is true, I’m your daughter.”
Amelia nods. Her eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t look sad. There’s a smile spreading across her face.
“I know how bizarre this must seem. There’s a lot I don’t know, too. But at least I know you’re all right. You’re safe. That’s what’s most important in all of this.”
We lock eyes, as though we’re each trying to decipher the details of the other’s face. Just then, Ava’s crying breaks through the silence. It’s so jarring, I don’t need the monitor to hear it, and neither does Amelia. She jumps, like she’s reliving a moment from long ago, turning her head in the direction of Ava’s bedroom.
“Excuse me just a minute.” I grab a bottle from the refrigerator and rush to Ava’s room, shutting the door behind me. Some days she wakes up harder than others. Normally, I’d pick her up and soothe her, but Amelia is sitting in the other room. I want to continue our conversation, and yet, there’s a part of me that wants her nowhere near my child. Not until I know more.
It only takes a few sips from the bottle for Ava to close her eyes and relax. I tiptoe back to the kitchen. Amelia is standing, looking at a series of picture frames on a nearby shelf.
“Sorry about that,” I say.
“Not a problem.” Amelia smiles, interlocking her fingers in front of her body. “You have a child?”
“Yes, I have a daughter. Ava just turned one.”
“That’s wonderful.”
And yet, there’s a sadness in her expression. She may have found her daughter—me—but that doesn’t return all the years that have been taken from her. She’s missed out on my entire childhood, my adulthood. My heart breaks a little for her. Carmen said she never had other children. How tragic it must be to have your time as a mother stolen from you, an entire chapter—arguably the most important chapter—of your life swiped away, and never be given a second chance.
Amelia lifts a silver picture frame off the shelf. It’s a photograph of Mom and me on the beach. We’re both wearing long skirts and tank tops, our skin tanned and our hair wispy. She holds the photo, using her other hand to cover her mouth.
“Sarah looks so different,” she says, gently putting the photograph back in its place. She turns to me and offers a weak smile. It’s another confirmation. The woman in the picture might look different, but she’s familiar.
I want to continue talking to Amelia. I want to hear what she has to say. We’ve missed out on an entire lifetime together, and even though she could have given up hope a long time ago, she’s here. Right in front of me. She wants to know me, and I’m curious to know about her, too.
“I’d like to talk with you more,” I say. “I just need to get Ava settled first. Could we meet in an hour?”
“Sure, sure. I have all the time in the world.”
She offers a cool smile. She must pick up on the fact I’m cautious having her around Ava. Then again, if anyone understands my reluctance of having strangers around my daughter, it’s Amelia. Her life has been forever shaped by it.
17 MarionNow
Twenty minutes later, I’m pushing open the front door to The Shack. The restaurant is still closed, but Des spends every spare moment preparing for the reopening.
“Well, you stopped by just in time.” Des plops a stack of pans on the counter. Her scowl drops long enough for her to make googly eyes at Ava.
“What does that mean?” I say, lifting Ava out of her car
