The first sentence inside said, “The baby your husband brought home that winter was never legally adopted.”
I honestly thought it had to be some kind of cruel joke or paperwork mix-up because my oldest son has my husband’s exact eyes and stubbornness. We raised him from three days old. Everybody in our town knows the story about how his teenage mother “couldn’t handle it” and disappeared after the birth.
That letter told a very different version.
Apparently the girl was from two counties over and stayed with my husband’s older sister during the pregnancy. According to the letter, she came back asking for the baby twice during the first year. My husband paid her cash both times and told his family she was trying to scam us for money.
I kept rereading that part while sitting beside the basement washing machine because none of it matched the man I’ve been married to for thirty-six years.
Then I noticed the return address on the envelope.
It was local.
Not another state. Not far away.
Ten minutes from our house.
The woman’s last name caught my attention because two months ago my grandson started dating a girl with that same uncommon last name. I only remembered because my husband acted strangely quiet during dinner when she introduced herself.
Last Thanksgiving he barely touched his food and left the table early after asking her what hospital she was born in.