Inside were 15 envelopes, each marked with a year. Underneath were photos, invitations, programs, returned letters, printed emails, and my old notebook with its cracked spine.
Color drained from Maya’s face. “What’s this?”
Inside were 15 envelopes.
Adele moved closer. “Fifteen years of things Dad sent you and you sent back.”
Maya lifted an envelope. “This is fake.”
Maya’s eyes flashed. “Robert, don’t.”
Adele held up a small pink card. “Piper made this when she was nine. It says, ‘Please come to my birthday, Mom.’”
Piper covered her mouth.
“Fifteen years of things Dad sent you and you sent back.”
Adele picked up a school photo. “This was Shannon’s first day of school.”
Shannon stared at it. “I’ve never seen that.”
“I sent it,” I said. “It came back.”
Maya snapped, “You had no right to do this at a family event.”
Adele looked at her. “My wedding.”
The correction hit hard.
Adele picked up a school photo.
Maya’s voice trembled. “Your father poisoned you.”
Adele’s tone stayed even. “No. He protected your name long after you stopped earning it.”
Then Adele reached for my notebook.
My chest tightened. “Adele.”
She looked at me, silently asking permission.
Part of me wanted to say no.
But Maya had just called me the man who kept six daughters from their mother.
“Your father poisoned you.”
So I gave the smallest nod.
Adele opened it. “Year two. Adele asked why Maya didn’t come to her school play. I told her she was loved. I hope one day that is enough.”
My eyes stung.
Adele flipped to another page. “Year six. Shannon called her teacher ‘Mom’ by accident and cried in the car. I told her families come in different shapes. I waited until she fell asleep before I cried.”
“I told her she was loved.”
At the very bottom of the box was an empty frame with a small card tucked inside.
“The mother-daughter photo we never got.”
“Oh my God. How dare you?” Maya screamed.
Adele’s composure held. “You came here worried about how you’d look in front of your new family. So I wanted them to see the family you left behind.”
Maya rounded on me. “Say something, Robert. Tell her this isn’t the whole story.”
“Oh my God.”
I stood.
“It isn’t,” I said.
Maya’s expression shifted, as if she thought I might come to her rescue.
