Part 2
I kept staring at the DNA report until the letters began to blur.
David Harris.
My uncle.
My biological father.
The apartment suddenly felt too small. Every birthday, every Christmas, and every time my parents had said “we chose you because you were special” split apart in my memory. I had not been adopted from an unknown college student. I was biologically connected to the very family that had spent my entire life deceiving me.
Before I could lose my nerve, I called the number I found for David in Seattle.
He picked up after four rings.
“Hello?”
My throat tightened. “Is this David Harris?”
“Yes. Who’s calling?”
“My name is Emma.”
A pause followed.
It was not confusion.
It was recognition.
Then he whispered, “Emma?”
My legs nearly collapsed beneath me.
“You know me.”
He released a shaky breath. “I’ve known about you since before you were born.”
I pressed my palm against my chest. “Are you my father?” Parenting
The silence lasted too long.
At last, he said, “Yes.”
That single word broke something inside me.
David explained everything in fragments. At twenty-three, he had fallen in love with a woman named Carolyn Miller. She had been engaged to his closest friend, Michael Reed, though the relationship was already coming apart. Carolyn became pregnant. Before David could decide what to do, his older brother Robert and Linda intervened.
My parents.
They told Carolyn that David was irresponsible, unstable, and broke. They told David that Carolyn had decided to place the baby for adoption. Then they volunteered to “raise the baby quietly” so the family could avoid scandal. Carolyn was informed that I had gone to a private adoptive family in another state. David was told the adoption had been sealed and that he had no legal rights.
But Robert and Linda had kept me.
“They said they couldn’t have children,” David said, his voice breaking. “They said at least you’d stay in the family. Then they told me if I ever came near you, they’d tell everyone I abandoned you.”
My grip tightened around the phone until my fingers ached. “Why didn’t you fight?”
“I was young,” he whispered. “And ashamed. But that’s not an excuse.”
By Thursday, I had located Carolyn Reed. She was now married to Michael, the same man she had once planned to marry. They had two grown sons who knew nothing about my existence.
When I called her, she started crying before I could finish my opening sentence.
“I was told you were gone,” she said. “I mourned you for twenty-six years.”
On Friday night, I drove to my parents’ house.
My mother opened the door with a smile. Griefsupport programs
Then she noticed David standing behind me.
Her smile disappeared.
