I also kept Sarah’s photograph in my wallet, but I rarely spoke about Sarah or Ivy. I believed silence would protect my daughters from feeling like replacements for the family I had lost.
When the girls turned fifteen, they began disappearing for long afternoons and occasional weekends. They claimed they were studying, attending school activities, or helping friends. Their adoption had never been hidden from them, so I suspected they were searching for their biological relatives.
I had always promised that I would never force them to choose between me and the family they came from. Fear kept me from asking questions. For three years, I practiced losing them.
On their eighteenth birthday, I cooked their favorite dinner. Afterward, they went upstairs and returned carrying the two beach towels.
“What are those doing out of the box?” I asked.
Emily placed the white one on the table. Grace set down the pink one.
