Mom closed her eyes.
“My daughter.”
No one spoke.
Her son stared at her.
“My daughter.”
“You said you never had children before us.”
“I can explain.”
I held up the plastic bag.
“Dad already did.”
Mom’s eyes fixed on it.
“What did he tell you?”
“The truth.”
“I can explain.”
“He never told the whole truth.”
“You sent cards.”
“I tried to reach you.”
“You wrote to Dad. You talked about me like I belonged to someone else.”
“He kept you away from me.”
I removed the custody papers.
“You declined visits.”
“I tried to reach you.”
“You don’t understand what my life was like.”
I took out the checks.
“I understand this.”
Mom’s face changed.
Her husband stepped closer.
“What are those?”
“Tuition payments,” I said. “Dad paid them after she left.”
“I understand this.”
Mom shook her head.
“Simone, please.”
“He quit engineering to raise me. Then he worked construction and paid for her to finish.”
Her husband picked up one of the checks.
“You told me you worked your way through school.”
“I did work.”
Mom began to cry.
“Simone, please.”
“I was scared. I felt trapped. I thought I would go back once I had figured things out.”
“You had 22 years,” I said.
“Every year made it harder.”
“Harder for you. Not for Dad.”
She pointed at the cards.
“He hid those from you. He made choices too.”
“Harder for you.”
“He was wrong.”
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