Chapter 5: The Man Who Came Looking
Carol had kept the letter in the same bag as the photograph.
She pulled it out the same way — carefully, like it was something that might break or burn.
She handed it to Daniel first.
He read it standing up.
I watched his eyes move across the page.
Once.
Then again.
Then he handed it to me without speaking.
The handwriting was neat.
Deliberate.
The kind of handwriting that belongs to someone who learned it carefully.
*Dear Mrs.
Hale,*
*My name is Thomas Brennan.
I was born in March 1993 and adopted at three days old.
I recently completed a DNA search through a genealogy service and your late husband, Robert Hale, appeared as a close biological match.*
*I am not writing to cause any pain or disruption to your family.
I only want to understand where I come from.
If you are willing to speak with me, I would be grateful.
If not, I understand completely.*
*I wish you well regardless.*
*Thomas Brennan*
There was a phone number at the bottom.
A London area code.
"He's in England," I said.
"He was," Carol said.
"He moved to the States eight months ago.
He's in Chicago now."
I looked at her.
"How do you know that?"
"Because I wrote back to him." Carol folded her hands.
"I met him for coffee in September.
Before you were even showing, Lily.
I had no idea then that any of this would—" She stopped.
"He's a good man.
Quiet.
He just wanted to know his father's name."
"Did you tell him about Daniel?" I asked.
"I told him he had a half-brother.
Yes."
Daniel sat down on the edge of my hospital bed.
The mattress dipped under his weight.
"So he knows about me," Daniel said.
"Yes."
"And he knows I'm married."
"Yes."
Daniel looked at the letter in my hands.
"Does he know Lily's maiden name?"
Carol hesitated.
That half-second was enough.
"Carol." Daniel's voice was very quiet.
"Does Thomas know that Lily's mother is Patricia?"
"I didn't tell him," Carol said.
"I didn't know myself until two weeks ago.
I was going through Robert's old things — boxes I'd never opened — and I found letters.
From your mother, Lily.
Old ones.
From 1992." She looked at me.
"That's when I found the paper with her name.
That's when I understood."
"You've known for two weeks," I said, "that my mother and your husband—"
"I've known for two weeks that there was a possibility," Carol said carefully.
"I didn't know for certain.
I didn't know what to do with it.
And then the baby came and I saw the mark and I—" Her voice gave out.
"I panicked.
I shouldn't have said what I said.
About not keeping her.
I wasn't thinking.
I just saw that mark and everything hit me at once."
The baby made a small sound from the bassinet.
All three of us looked at her.
She was perfect.
Completely unaware.
Her tiny fist curled against her cheek.
"Her name is going to be Rose," I said.
Nobody had said her name out loud in this room yet.
It felt important to say it now.
"Her name is Rose and she is ours and nothing about any of this changes that."
Carol's eyes filled again.
"I know.
I know that, Lily.
I'm so sorry."
Daniel stood up.
He walked to the bassinet and looked down at Rose for a long moment.
Then he turned around.
"I want to meet him," he said.
Carol looked up.
"Thomas," Daniel said.
"I want to meet my brother."
I watched Carol's face move through something complicated.
Relief, maybe.
Or fear.
Or both.
"I'll call him," she said.
She reached for her phone.
And that was the moment mine lit up on the bedside table.
A text.
From my mother.
*Lily, I need to tell you something else.
May you like
Something I should have told you years ago.
Please call me before you speak to anyone named Thomas Brennan.*
