“Then why did you come?”
Hope’s eyes went wide.
Before either of us could answer, Rachel continued.
“I was young. I had nothing. Her father disappeared. My family wouldn’t help me. I was completely alone.”
Completely alone.
But that wasn’t right.
Completely alone.
I remembered the investigator from eighteen years ago: security was trying to identify two women near the restroom.
“You weren’t alone.” I looked at Rachel. “Security saw two women. One younger. One older. Investigators said you arrived together.”
Hope frowned.
“What?”
I remembered the investigator from eighteen years ago
Hope stared at Rachel. “Who was she?”
Rachel swallowed hard.
“No more lies,” Hope said. “Who. Was. She?”
“My mother.”
So Rachel hadn’t simply been abandoned by everyone around her.
“No more lies,”
Hope’s voice dropped.
“Your mother was there?”
Rachel started crying.
“She didn’t want me to keep you.”
Hope stared at her.
“My mother hated that I was pregnant,” Rachel continued. “I was nineteen. Your father was gone. I didn’t have money. She paid for everything. The apartment. Food. Everything.”
“Who was she?”
Hope’s jaw tightened.
“Keep going.”
“She told me I could come home if I left you.” Rachel’s voice broke. “She said if I kept you, I was on my own.”
I watched Hope’s face change.
Rachel looked at her desperately.
“She said if I kept you, I was on my own.”
“She made me do it.”
I kept my voice level. “She pressured you. She controlled the money. She gave you an awful choice. But Hope deserves the truth.”
Hope began crying silently.
Rachel looked at her.
“I’ve hated myself every day.”
“She made me do it.”
Hope shook her head.
“Then why did you lie to me?”
“I wanted you to understand.”
“You wanted me to forgive you.”
Rachel flinched.
Hope continued.
“You wanted me to forgive you.”
“Is that why you came here, even though I asked you not to? Your mom controlled you, decided what was best for you, and now you’re trying to do the same to me?”
For the first time that morning, Rachel had no story left to hide behind.
Rachel looked devastated.
“I’m your mother.”
My body reacted to the words before my mind did.
“Is that why you came here, even though I asked you not to?”
Rachel turned toward me.
“You raised her for eighteen years. Aren’t you going to say something? Aren’t you going to fight for her?”
I looked at Hope, not Rachel.
“Hope isn’t something either of us gets to win. This is her decision.”
I turned to my daughter.
“Aren’t you going to fight for her?”
“If you want Rachel in your life, I’ll deal with my feelings. And if you don’t, nobody gets to force you.”
Hope looked at Rachel.
“I’m not going with you.”
Rachel’s face collapsed.
“I didn’t ask you to leave today.”
“You came here expecting me to.” Hope breathed out slowly. “I don’t hate you. But I told you I’m not ready, and you didn’t listen. How am I supposed to trust you now?”
“I didn’t ask you to leave today.”
Rachel flinched.
Hope stepped closer to me.
“If I ever meet you again, I choose when and where. And you don’t contact Mom behind my back.”
“Okay.”
Then Hope held out her hand.
Rachel looked confused.
“How am I supposed to trust you now?”
“The rabbit.”
Rachel’s face tightened.
“But…”
“Please.”
Rachel stared at Bunny for several seconds before giving him back.
Hope pressed the old stuffed rabbit against her chest.
“The rabbit.”
She hadn’t done that since she was little.
Rachel walked toward her car alone.
Before getting inside, she turned around.
“I do love you.”
Hope didn’t answer.
Rachel drove away.
Rachel walked toward her car alone.
For a long time, Hope and I stayed on the front steps.
Finally, she said, “Are you mad at me?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“I figured.”
“I’m hurt. And I wish you’d trusted me.”
“Are you mad at me?”
She looked at Bunny.
“I never told her she was my mother. I told her you were my mother. Every time she pushed too hard, I told her.” She paused. “I think being strong-armed into abandoning me really messed her up.”
I sighed and kissed the top of her hair.
“Maybe.”
She gave a wet laugh. “So… my birthday is going great so far, isn’t it?”
“I think being strong-armed into abandoning me really messed her up.”
I laughed too.
“Your cake is still intact.”
“Lemon?”
“Obviously.”
She looked down at the rabbit.
“I think Bunny needs a bath.”
“So… my birthday is going great so far, isn’t it?”
“Bunny needed a bath fifteen years ago.”
She smiled.
Then she took my hand.
For years, I’d told Hope God sent her somewhere I could hear her.
That morning, I understood loving her didn’t mean choosing for her. It meant staying when she chose for herself.
God sent her somewhere I could hear her.
