Grant and I drove straight to Gwendolyn's house.
Neither of us wanted to wait.
The documents Grandma Opal had mentioned could be important.
They might explain what Raymond had tried to tell us.
They might also contain the answers we still lacked.
When we arrived, Gwendolyn was in the garden.
She looked up as we approached.
"What now?"
"We need to look through Dad's things."
Her expression changed.
"Why?"
"Grandma said he kept a box of documents."
Gwendolyn put down the garden gloves.
"Your grandmother talks too much."
"Where is it?"
"I don't know."
Grant looked at her.
"You collected his belongings after he died."
"That was twenty years ago."
"Then it shouldn't be difficult to remember."
She stared at him.
I stepped closer.
"Please, just tell us whether you still have it."
She looked toward the house.
Then she sighed.
"There's an old storage cabinet in the spare room."
"Can we look?"
She hesitated.
Finally, she opened the door.
We followed her inside.
The spare room had barely changed.
There were old boxes stacked near the wall.
A broken lamp stood beside a wardrobe.
Several of Raymond's books were still on the shelves.
I remembered sitting on the floor in that room while he read to us.
The memories came back so clearly that I had to look away.
Gwendolyn pointed toward the wardrobe.
"Some of his things are in there."
Grant opened the doors.
Inside were folded clothes and a few storage containers.
We searched carefully.
One box held old photographs.
Another contained Christmas decorations.
Then Grant found a small wooden case.
It was tucked behind a stack of blankets.
He pulled it out.
There was a brass clasp on the front.
I recognized the box.
Raymond had kept his personal papers in it.
Gwendolyn stared at it.
"Put that back."
Grant looked at her.
"Why?"
"Those things are private."
"They belonged to Dad."
"He's gone."
Grant opened the clasp.
Inside were envelopes, official-looking documents, and several handwritten notes.
There was also a small photograph.
I picked it up.
It showed Raymond standing beside Sarah.
They were outside the children's center.
Both were smiling.
I placed it carefully on the bed.
Grant began sorting the documents.
The first papers were ordinary.
Insurance information.
Old bills.
A few certificates.
Then he found a folder with our names written on it.
Wesley and Grant.
My stomach tightened.
He opened it.
Inside were copies of adoption-related documents.
I recognized our names.
There were dates and signatures.
But there were also handwritten notes attached to several pages.
One note was written by Raymond.
It said that the boys should eventually be given the complete family history.
Another mentioned Sarah's attempts to maintain contact.
I looked at Gwendolyn.
She had become very still.
"Did you know this was here?"
She didn't answer.
Grant continued reading.
There was a list of dates.
Several were marked beside short notes.
Letters received.
Visit requested.
Meeting postponed.
Contact denied.
I felt my hands begin to shake.
"These are Sarah's attempts to reach us."
Gwendolyn turned away.
Grant picked up another paper.
It was a handwritten statement from Raymond.
He read it silently.
Then he handed it to me.
The words were difficult to make out in places.
But the meaning was clear.
Raymond had written that Sarah had agreed to the adoption because she wanted the boys to have a secure home.
He had also written that she had never agreed to disappear from their lives.
I read that sentence twice.
She had never agreed to disappear.
I looked at Grant.
He was holding another envelope.
It had our names written across the front.
The handwriting was Raymond's.
Unlike the first letter, this envelope was still sealed.
Gwendolyn stepped forward.
"Don't open that."
I looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because it has nothing to do with you."
I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing.
It had our names on it.
Our father had written it.
And she still believed she could decide whether we were allowed to read it.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a longer letter.
Raymond had written it carefully.
He explained that he had wanted us to understand that our adoption was not the result of being unwanted.
He wrote that Sarah had loved us.
He wrote that he had tried to make sure we would always have a place in her life.
He also admitted that he had not been able to resolve the conflict with Gwendolyn.
I stopped reading.
Grant took the letter.
His eyes moved across the page.
Then he looked at Gwendolyn.
"Why did you let us believe she abandoned us?"
Gwendolyn sat down on the edge of the bed.
For several seconds, she didn't speak.
Then she said:
"Because I was afraid."
I stared at her.
"Afraid of what?"
"That you would leave me."
Grant shook his head.
"We were children."
"I know."
"Sarah wasn't trying to take us away from you."
Gwendolyn covered her face.
"I didn't know how to share you."
I felt a strange sadness.
For the first time, she had said something that sounded honest.
But honesty after twenty years didn't erase what had happened.
I placed Raymond's letter beside the photograph.
The two objects belonged together.
Gwendolyn looked at them.
"He was always on her side."
I turned toward her.
"He was on our side."
She began crying.
I wanted to feel sorry for her.
Part of me did.
But another part remembered the empty seats at our school events.
The birthday calls.
The accusations.
The years we had spent believing our mother had never wanted us.
I couldn't pretend those memories were harmless.
Grant closed the wooden box.
"We're taking copies of these documents."
Gwendolyn didn't object.
She simply sat there.
Before leaving, I looked around the spare room one last time.
The old books.
The blankets.
The broken lamp.
So many pieces of Raymond's life had been left untouched.
I wondered whether Gwendolyn had kept the room this way because she missed him.
Or because she couldn't bear to face what he had tried to tell us.
We carried the box to the car.
I placed it carefully on the back seat.
Grant started the engine.
Neither of us spoke until we reached the main road.
Then he said:
"Dad tried to leave us the truth."
I looked at the wooden box through the rearview mirror.
"Yes."
"And Mom knew."
I nodded.
For the first time, we had something more than memories and suspicions.
We had our father's own words.
And they confirmed that the story we had grown up believing was never the whole truth.
Click here to continue reading: PART 13: Our Father’s Last Letter Explained Why He Had Tried to Protect Two Families Without Realizing What It Would Cost His Sons
I Thought Bringing Her Birthday Flowers Might Finally Make Her See Me as Her Son
Part 12 of 20
