The first Sunday after our conversation with Gwendolyn, Grant and I visited Sarah again.
She had invited us for lunch.
I arrived carrying a small bag of groceries.
Grant brought flowers.
Sarah opened the door and smiled when she saw us.
"You didn't have to bring anything."
"I know."
She laughed.
"Then why did you?"
"Because I wanted to."
For a moment, I noticed how different that exchange felt from the conversations I used to have with Gwendolyn.
There was no complaint.
No reminder about what something had cost.
No expectation that we should repay her for accepting us.
Just a simple thank-you.
We sat at the kitchen table.
Sarah had prepared chicken, vegetables, and a large bowl of salad.
She asked about our work.
Grant talked about a project he had been handling.
I told her about a design assignment that had kept me busy for several weeks.
She listened carefully.
She seemed interested in every small detail.
After lunch, she brought out the wooden box containing our childhood photographs.
We spent the afternoon looking through them.
There was one picture of Grant and me sitting on the floor beside a small toy truck.
Another showed Sarah holding me while Grant stood beside her.
I couldn't stop looking at that one.
"Do you remember this day?" I asked.
Sarah smiled.
"Of course."
"What happened?"
"You had been crying because Grant wouldn't share his toy."
Grant laughed.
"I was three years old. I probably thought it belonged to me."
Sarah laughed too.
"You both thought everything belonged to you."
I smiled.
It was an ordinary memory.
But it felt precious.
For years, our childhood had been described by someone who had wanted us to believe we had been unwanted.
Now we were hearing stories from the woman who had actually been there.
Sarah noticed me looking at the photograph.
"Are you okay?"
I nodded.
"I'm just trying to imagine it."
She reached across the table.
"You don't have to remember everything to know you were loved."
I looked at her.
That sentence stayed with me.
Later, Grant asked whether she had ever visited our old house after the adoption.
Sarah nodded.
"Once."
"When?"
"Not long after you moved in."
I looked at her.
"What happened?"
She explained that she had brought a small bag containing clothes and a few toys.
She had hoped to see us.
But Gwendolyn had met her outside.
Sarah said she was told that visits would make the transition difficult.
She had left the bag.
She never knew whether we had received it.
Grant frowned.
"What was in it?"
"Two little blankets. Some clothes. A wooden toy for each of you."
I tried to remember.
There had been a wooden toy truck in our bedroom when we were small.
I remembered playing with it.
Raymond had once told me that it had been a gift from someone who cared about us.
I had assumed it came from him.
I looked at Sarah.
"Was one of the toys a little wooden truck?"
She smiled sadly.
"Yes."
I looked at Grant.
We both remembered it.
It was one of the few toys we had kept for years.
I suddenly understood why Raymond had never thrown it away.
He had known where it came from.
Sarah continued looking through the photographs.
She didn't seem interested in making us feel guilty about what we had missed.
She simply wanted to share what she remembered.
Before we left, she gave Grant a copy of the photograph of the two of us sitting with her.
She gave me another picture.
It showed her holding both of us.
I placed it inside my wallet.
On the drive home, Grant looked at the photograph in his hand.
"Do you think we can ever make up for all those years?"
I shook my head.
"No."
He looked out the window.
"That's what I thought."
"But we can make new ones."
He nodded.
A few days later, I received a message from Gwendolyn.
She asked whether we would attend dinner at her house.
I showed it to Grant.
He read it twice.
"Are you going?"
"I don't know."
He placed the phone down.
"We don't owe her another visit."
"I know."
I thought about the old photographs she had given us.
There were memories I wanted to keep.
Raymond's smile.
The matching bicycles.
The Christmas mornings.
Those things had been real.
So had the hurt.
I decided we could visit, but only if Gwendolyn understood that Sarah was no longer a forbidden subject.
I replied that we would come.
I also told her we wouldn't hide our relationship with Sarah.
She answered with a single sentence.
"I understand."
I didn't know whether she truly did.
But it was a beginning.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: The First Time Our Two Mothers Spoke Again, I Realized How Much Damage Silence Had Done to Everyone
I Thought Bringing Her Birthday Flowers Might Finally Make Her See Me as Her Son
Part 17 of 20
