Clarissa’s voice broke then, finally.
Clarissa had sat there in the car watching us.
And then she had driven away.
“Why?” Gabriella asked.
Clarissa’s voice broke then, finally.
“Because you looked happy,” she said. “And I never knew if I could help foster that happiness.”
That broke something open.
Not forgiveness, exactly. I still blamed her for the loss her children had to face since after they were born.
Bu to could begin to understand.
At first, she only wanted to know what her mother looked like now.
Gabriella started crying quietly. She kept apologizing, the words tumbling over each other. She said she found Clarissa online three months earlier.
At first, she only wanted to know what her mother looked like now. Then she sent a message. Clarissa answered within an hour, warm and eager, almost too eager.
Gabriella kept the messages small after that, afraid one wrong question would make her disappear again. When graduation got close, she invited Clarissa because a public place felt safer than a private meeting. She told herself one meeting might bring closure.
