He read it again from the beginning. Then kept going.
When I was seventeen, I found out I was pregnant.
He stopped.
Read those words a second time.
Then continued.
It happened after things ended with someone I thought I’d marry. He had already moved on when I found out. My parents stood by me. My mother had a friend who couldn’t have children. We made a decision.
He glanced up at the woman — at Claire — and then back down at the page.
I gave birth, and we placed the baby with the family. But I never walked away. I stayed close. I helped quietly. I told myself it was the right thing. But I never stopped thinking about her. I hope you’ll finally get to meet her. Always yours, Eleanor.
He lowered the paper slowly.
His heart was hammering in a way it hadn’t in years.
He looked at Claire. Really looked at her. Sitting beside him now, in this light, the resemblance was not just striking — it was specific. Not Eleanor exactly. Something younger, something separate. But unmistakably connected.
“Who are you?” he asked. His voice came out unsteady.
