The adoption agency no longer existed.
Its office had become a dental practice.
The old records had been transferred twice, then archived.
It took nearly two weeks to obtain the first usable lead.
By then, Jeremy and I had stopped arguing about whether we should continue.
We were going to find Anna.
The question was what we would do when we did.
The records gave us an adult name.
Anna Reed.
Age twenty-one.
College student.
Knoxville.
The information was incomplete, but it was enough.
I stared at the page.
“Reed.”
“Her grandfather's name.”
Jeremy sat beside me.
“She may have changed it.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe she doesn't know she's adopted.”
“That would make this harder.”
He nodded.
We didn't contact her immediately.
Instead, we found an attorney who specialized in sealed adoption records.
The attorney explained the situation carefully.
“We can't simply approach her and demand a relationship.”
“We don't want that.”
“You need to understand that finding an adult adoptee can have consequences.”
Jeremy nodded.
“We understand.”
The attorney looked at me.
“Do you?”
I thought about the hospital.
About Lacey.
About the little girl in the photograph.
“Yes.”
He agreed to help us establish contact through a confidential intermediary.
The waiting was unbearable.
Every phone call made my heart jump.
Every email felt like it might change everything.
Then one afternoon, the attorney called.
“She agreed to speak.”
I sat down.
“Anna?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know who we are?”
“She knows she's adopted.”
Jeremy closed his eyes.
“She knows about Lacey?”
“No.”
“About me?”
“No.”
The attorney paused.
“She knows her biological mother is deceased.”
My throat tightened.
“Who told her?”
“Her adoptive parents.”
I looked at Jeremy.
He couldn't speak.
We arranged to meet at a small café in Knoxville.
I went alone.
Jeremy wanted to come, but Anna had agreed to meet me first.
I didn't tell him why.
He understood.
The café was nearly empty.
I arrived early.
At the table by the window, I placed the photograph of Lacey inside my purse.
I didn't know whether I would show it to her.
At twenty-one, Anna deserved the truth.
But truth had to be given carefully.
The door opened.
A young woman walked inside.
Dark hair.
Blue eyes.
Small silver bracelet.
I knew immediately.
My heart stopped.
She looked at the room.
Then toward me.
“Jill?”
I stood.
“Yes.”
She approached.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
She looked at my face.
Then at the chair.
“Can I sit?”
“Of course.”
She sat.
“I don't know why you wanted to meet me.”
I took a breath.
“I found your name through an adoption record.”
She stiffened.
“So you know.”
“I know you're adopted.”
“My parents told me.”
“They didn't tell you everything.”
Her expression hardened.
“What does that mean?”
I didn't answer immediately.
Instead, I asked, “Do you know your biological mother's name?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Do you know anything about her?”
“She died.”
“That part is true.”
Anna looked confused.
“How do you know?”
I placed the photograph on the table.
She looked down.
Her expression changed.
“Who is that?”
“Your mother.”
Anna stared at the photograph.
Then back at me.
“No.”
“She was named Lacey.”
Anna shook her head.
“My mother is Sarah.”
“Sarah is your adoptive mother.”
Anna pushed the photograph away.
“You're wrong.”
“I wish I were.”
She stood.
“Who are you?”
I looked at her.
“My name is Jill Tolley.”
The color disappeared from her face.
“Tolley?”
“Yes.”
She sat slowly.
“Why do I know that name?”
I couldn't breathe.
“Because your biological father is Jeremy Tolley.”
Her eyes widened.
“No.”
“He didn't know you survived.”
Anna stared at me.
“Why?”
“Because he was told your mother miscarried.”
She looked toward the door.
“This is a joke.”
“No.”
“Who sent you?”
“No one.”
“You expect me to believe this?”
I opened my purse.
I removed the second photograph.
The baby.
Lacey.
I placed it in front of her.
Anna stared.
Then she touched the corner.
“Where did you get this?”
“Your mother left it.”
Her eyes filled.
“You met her?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before she died.”
“Recently?”
“Yes.”
Anna covered her mouth.
“You're lying.”
“I understand why you think that.”
“Did she know me?”
“Yes.”
“Did she see me?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ever speak to me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“She was afraid of changing your life.”
Anna's tears fell.
“She knew where I was?”
“She knew enough to find you.”
“Then why didn't she?”
I looked down.
“Because she believed she had already lost you once.”
Anna wiped her cheeks.
“And my father?”
“He never knew you were alive.”
“Then why are you here?”
I hesitated.
“Because he deserves to know.”
She looked at me.
“And you?”
“I deserve nothing.”
That answer surprised her.
I continued.
“I was married to your father for twenty-two years before we learned about you.”
“Married?”
“Yes.”
“So you're my father's wife.”
“Yes.”
Anna stared at me.
“Did my mother hate you?”
I thought about Lacey's final days.
“She did once.”
“What changed?”
“She forgave me.”
“For what?”
I took a breath.
“For loving your father.”
Anna looked away.
“And you loved him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still?”
I didn't answer immediately.
“Yes.”
She nodded slowly.
“I don't know what I'm supposed to feel.”
“You don't have to feel anything.”
“I don't know if I want a father.”
“He won't force himself into your life.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I won't let him.”
Anna looked at me.
There was almost a smile.
Almost.
“Why are you protecting me?”
“Because nobody protected you when you were born.”
The words escaped before I could soften them.
Anna looked down.
“I had good parents.”
“I know.”
“They loved me.”
“I believe you.”
“They raised me.”
“They're your parents.”
She looked at me.
“Then what am I supposed to call you?”
“Jill is fine.”
“And him?”
“You can decide later.”
She nodded.
We sat quietly.
Then she asked the question I had been dreading.
“Did my mother love me?”
I looked directly into her eyes.
“Every day.”
Anna cried.
Not loudly.
She simply lowered her face into her hands.
I waited.
When she finally looked up, she whispered, “I want to meet him.”
I closed my eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
She laughed through tears.
“But I want to.”
I called Jeremy from outside.
He answered immediately.
“Jill?”
“She wants to meet you.”
There was silence.
Then a broken breath.
“Where are you?”
I gave him the address.
He arrived twenty minutes later.
I watched him enter the café.
He stopped when he saw Anna.
She stood.
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Jeremy whispered her name.
“Anna.”
She looked at him.
“You're my father?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
She stepped closer.
“Why didn't you find me?”
Jeremy's face collapsed.
“Because I didn't know you were alive.”
She looked at him.
“Would you have?”
“Yes.”
He didn't hesitate.
“Yes.”
Anna studied his face.
Then she reached for his hand.
He took it.
Neither of them spoke.
I stepped back.
For twenty-one years, this man had believed he had lost a child before she could be born.
Now she was standing in front of him.
Alive.
Angry.
Confused.
And beautiful.
Anna looked at me.
“You're staying?”
“If you want me to.”
She nodded.
“Stay.”
So I did.
We sat together for nearly two hours.
Anna asked questions.
Jeremy answered.
Some answers were difficult.
Some were incomplete.
Some were impossible.
She wanted to know about Lacey.
Jeremy told her everything he knew.
She wanted to know about her grandparents.
He told her about Evelyn.
He told her about the photograph.
He told her about the lie.
When he reached that part, Anna looked at me.
“Did your husband know?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
She nodded.
“I believe you.”
That sentence meant more to me than I could explain.
Before we left, Anna touched the photograph of Lacey.
“Can I keep this?”
“Yes.”
She held it against her chest.
Then she looked at Jeremy.
“Can I call you Dad?”
His eyes filled.
“You can call me anything you want.”
She smiled.
“Okay.”
Outside, the evening air was cool.
Jeremy stood beside me.
For a while, we watched Anna walk toward her car.
“She'll leave again,” I said.
“I know.”
“She needs time.”
“I know.”
“You can't expect her to become your daughter overnight.”
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“Thank you.”
I nodded.
Then he reached for my hand.
I let him hold it.
But before we could walk away, Anna called out.
“Jill!”
I turned.
She was standing beside her car.
“I found something.”
“What?”
She held up a folded piece of paper.
“My mother sent this to my adoptive parents years ago.”
My heart stopped.
“What does it say?”
Anna looked at the paper.
“It says she wasn't the only one who knew where I was.”
Jeremy's expression changed.
“Who else knew?”
Anna shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Then she looked toward us.
“But the letter has your mother's signature.”
Evelyn.
The secret wasn't finished.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Letter Evelyn Left Behind Turned Our Search for Anna Into a Final Question About Who Had Protected Her and Who Had Lied
The Errand That Should Have Taken Ten Minutes Instead Opened a Door My Marriage Had Kept Locked for Twenty-Two Years
Part 7 of 15
