Chapter 6: The Phone Call
I waited two days.
Not because I was afraid, or not only because of that.
I needed to be alone with the idea of her before I let her voice into my head.
Once I heard her voice, I knew everything would move faster than I could control.
On the third morning, I sent the kids to school, kissed Daniel, and told him I was going to make a phone call and I needed to do it by myself.
He nodded and went upstairs without asking anything.
I sat at the kitchen table with the piece of paper and my phone.
I dialed.
It rang three times.
"Hello?"
Her voice was lower than I expected.
Calm.
Like someone who had been waiting for a long time and had learned how to wait without panic.
"This is Emma," I said.
A silence.
Not awkward — more like the silence after something lands.
"Emma." She said my name the same way it was written on the envelope.
Like she'd practiced it.
Like it mattered to get it right.
"My father gave me your letter," I said.
"I know.
He called me when he got home." A pause.
"How are you?"
It was such a simple question.
I almost laughed.
"I don't know," I said honestly.
"I've been better.
I've also been worse."
"That's fair."
"I have questions," I said.
"I expected you would.
Ask me anything.
I won't lie to you.
I've had enough years of things not being said."
I looked down at the table.
I'd written a list.
Three pages, over two days, every question I could think of.
Now that she was on the line, only one of them felt urgent.
"Did you ever regret giving me up?"
The silence this time was different.
Fuller.
"Every day," she said.
"Not in a way that made me think I'd made the wrong choice — I had nothing, Emma, I genuinely had nothing to give you.
But every day I thought about you.
Every single day."
My throat tightened.
"I used to wonder," I said, "when I was a kid — why Dad never took me anywhere.
I thought it was because of my skin.
The vitiligo."
"Oh, Emma." Her voice dropped.
"No."
"I know that now.
But I spent a long time believing it."
"I'm so sorry.
If I had known—" She stopped.
"I don't know what I would have done differently.
I don't know that I could have done anything.
But I'm sorry you carried that."
"He was trying to protect me," I said.
"In the wrong way, for the wrong reasons, but he was trying."
"He's a complicated man," she said.
"But I believe he loves you.
The way he talked about you, last spring — there was no performance in it.
It was just a father talking about his daughter."
I pressed my fingers against my eyes.
"He said you laugh the same way I do," I said.
A small sound came down the line.
Something between a laugh and a breath.
"He told me that too," she said.
"After we met.
He sent me a message that just said: *she laughs exactly like you.* Nothing else."
I smiled.
I couldn't help it.
"I'd like to meet you," I said.
"If that's — if you want that."
"I've wanted that for thirty-six years."
"I need it to be slow," I said.
"I'm not — I can't walk into this like it's a reunion.
I don't know you yet."
"I know," she said.
"I don't know you either.
I only know the outline of you.
I'd like to know the rest."
We agreed on coffee.
A public place, neutral ground, the following Saturday.
She named a café I actually knew — I'd been there a dozen times, had never thought anything of it.
After I hung up, I sat at the table for a long time.
Daniel appeared in the doorway eventually.
"How did it go?" he asked.
"We're meeting Saturday," I said.
He came and sat across from me.
"Are you okay?"
I thought about it honestly.
"She said she thought about me every single day," I said.
"Every day for thirty-six years."
Daniel was quiet.
"That's a long time to love someone you've never met," I said.
I picked up my phone and called Lily.
She answered immediately, like she'd been waiting.
"I called her," I said.
"And?"
"We're meeting Saturday." I paused.
"I think you should know.
I'm not telling you to hurt you.
I just — you're my sister.
You've always been my sister.
That doesn't change."
Lily didn't speak for a moment.
"Thank you for telling me," she said quietly.
"Emma — I really am sorry."
"I know," I said.
"I know you are."
It wasn't forgiveness yet.
May you like
But it was a door left open.
Saturday came faster than I expected.
