The woman's name was Margaret Hale.
I found it written on the back of three photographs.
She had been Evelyn's closest friend.
According to the notes, Margaret had helped Evelyn after Lacey left Nashville.
I searched through the old address book we found in the trunk.
There were dozens of names.
Most were crossed out.
Margaret's wasn't.
Beside her name was an address outside Franklin.
Jeremy stared at it.
“I remember that house.”
“You've been there?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“After Lacey left.”
“What happened?”
“My mother took me there.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
He was quiet for several seconds.
“Maybe I was supposed to.”
We drove there that afternoon.
Neither of us spoke much.
The photograph sat between us in an envelope.
I had looked at it so many times that the little girl's face was beginning to feel familiar.
That frightened me.
At the end of a narrow road stood a white farmhouse surrounded by old oak trees.
A woman answered the door.
She was in her late seventies.
Gray hair.
Thin shoulders.
Sharp eyes.
She looked at Jeremy first.
Then at me.
Her face changed.
“You found it.”
Jeremy froze.
“What?”
She looked at the envelope in my hand.
“The photograph.”
I felt cold.
“You know who she is?”
Margaret stepped aside.
“Come in.”
We entered a living room filled with old furniture and framed photographs.
Margaret closed the door.
Then she sat.
“You should have come years ago.”
Jeremy remained standing.
“Who is the girl?”
Margaret looked at him.
“Your daughter.”
He stopped breathing for a moment.
I sat beside him.
“My daughter?” he whispered.
Margaret nodded.
“Lacey gave birth to her.”
My hands went numb.
“But Lacey said she miscarried.”
“She believed that.”
“Believed?”
Margaret looked at me.
“She was told the baby had died.”
“Who told her?”
“Evelyn.”
Jeremy's face drained of color.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Margaret folded her hands.
“Because the baby wasn't safe.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“Lacey was young. Jeremy was young. Neither of them had money. Neither had stability. Evelyn believed the child would be better raised by another family.”
“That doesn't explain why she lied.”
“She didn't want Lacey to come back.”
Jeremy's voice shook.
“She stole my daughter?”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
“Then what did she do?”
“She arranged an adoption.”
Silence filled the room.
“Without telling me?”
“Yes.”
I looked at Jeremy.
He was staring at the floor.
“Where is she?”
Margaret didn't answer immediately.
“She was adopted by a family in Tennessee.”
“What's her name?”
“I can't give you that.”
“Why?”
“Because I promised.”
“To my mother?”
“To Lacey.”
My heart tightened.
“Lacey knew?”
Margaret nodded.
“When?”
“Years later.”
“Why didn't she tell Jeremy?”
“Because she was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“That he would try to take the girl away.”
Jeremy shook his head.
“I wouldn't have.”
“You don't know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Margaret looked at him.
“You were young.”
“I was her father.”
“You were twenty-two.”
“I was still her father.”
Margaret sighed.
“I know.”
She stood and walked to a cabinet.
She removed a small box.
Inside were letters.
One was addressed to Lacey.
Another to Evelyn.
Another to Jeremy.
The envelope bearing Jeremy's name had never been opened.
I looked at him.
“Open it.”
He hesitated.
Then tore it.
The letter was dated 2005.
His eyes moved across the page.
He read silently.
Then he handed it to me.
My hands trembled.
The letter was from Lacey.
She had discovered that her daughter had survived.
She had learned that Evelyn had arranged the adoption.
She had begged Evelyn for the child's name.
Evelyn refused.
Lacey wrote that she would search for her.
Then the letter ended with one sentence.
If Jeremy ever learns the truth, tell him I never stopped looking.
I looked at Margaret.
“Why didn't you tell her?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“Many times.”
“What happened?”
“Evelyn threatened to take the child away from the adoptive family.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does if you understand what Evelyn believed.”
“What did she believe?”
“That Lacey would destabilize the girl's life.”
I shook my head.
“She had no right.”
“No.”
Margaret looked down.
“But she believed she was protecting everyone.”
Jeremy laughed bitterly.
“She destroyed everyone.”
Margaret didn't disagree.
“Where is my daughter?”
“I don't know.”
I stared at her.
“You just said she was adopted.”
“Yes.”
“Then someone knows.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Margaret hesitated.
“The adoption was handled through a private agency.”
“What agency?”
She gave us the name.
We wrote it down.
I asked, “Does the agency still exist?”
“No.”
“Then how do we find her?”
Margaret looked at me.
“Through the records.”
“Are they sealed?”
“Yes.”
“Then how?”
“Your daughter may not be your daughter legally.”
Jeremy stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“The adoption paperwork was unusual.”
“How?”
Margaret's voice dropped.
“The name on the birth certificate wasn't Jeremy Tolley.”
I frowned.
“What name was used?”
She looked at the photograph.
“Thomas Reed.”
Jeremy's face went white.
I felt the room tilt.
“Who is Thomas Reed?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Lacey's father.”
The pieces shifted again.
“Why would they use his name?”
“Because Evelyn didn't want Jeremy connected to the child.”
“Why?”
“She believed he would leave you.”
I stared at Jeremy.
Margaret continued.
“She believed that if you knew you had a daughter, you'd eventually go looking.”
“She was right.”
“Yes.”
“Did Lacey ever meet her?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“About ten years ago.”
My heart pounded.
“Where?”
“She saw her in a grocery store.”
“Did she talk to her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She couldn't.”
Margaret's eyes filled with tears.
“She was afraid that if she approached her, the adoptive parents would find out who she was.”
Jeremy sat down.
He covered his face.
Twenty-two years.
Twenty-two years of believing there had been no child.
I reached for his hand.
He didn't move.
Then he whispered, “What's her name?”
Margaret looked at him.
“Anna.”
I closed my eyes.
Anna.
A name.
A real person.
Our daughter.
“What's her last name?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I don't know what she uses now.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-one.”
I looked at Jeremy.
Twenty-one.
She had been born in 2005.
The photograph was real.
The pregnancy had been real.
The child had survived.
Lacey had known.
Evelyn had known.
Margaret had known.
And Jeremy and I had lived our entire marriage without knowing our daughter was alive.
I stood.
“We have to find her.”
Jeremy looked at me.
“What if she doesn't want us?”
“Then we respect that.”
“What if she hates us?”
“She has every right.”
He swallowed.
“And you?”
I didn't understand.
“What about me?”
“What if she hates you?”
I looked at him.
“She has the right.”
Margaret watched us.
“You should be prepared for something.”
“What?”
“Anna may not know anything about you.”
“Why?”
“Because her adoptive parents were told her birth parents were dead.”
Jeremy closed his eyes.
I felt a strange mixture of grief and hope.
A daughter had been alive somewhere for twenty-one years.
She had grown up without us.
And now we were going to have to decide whether finding her was an act of love or another disruption in a life someone else had already built.
Margaret gave us one final envelope.
“This was left for her.”
“By Lacey?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before she died.”
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Lacey was much younger.
She was holding a newborn baby.
The infant was wrapped in a yellow blanket.
On the back, Lacey had written:
For Anna, if you ever find this. I loved you every day I was alive.
I pressed the photograph to my chest.
Jeremy turned away.
His shoulders shook.
For the first time, I saw him cry for the child he had never known.
And I realized the secret Lacey had left behind wasn't meant to destroy our marriage.
It was meant to give us one last chance to find the person who had been missing from all our lives.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Finding Anna Became More Complicated When We Learned She Had Built Her Entire Life Around a Story That Kept Her From Us
The Errand That Should Have Taken Ten Minutes Instead Opened a Door My Marriage Had Kept Locked for Twenty-Two Years
Part 6 of 15
