Emily wrote she was 17 when she got pregnant. Her parents were strict, religious, and controlling. When Lily was born, they saw the birthmark and called it a punishment.
“They refused to let me bring her home,” she wrote.
“They said no one would ever want a baby who looked like that.”
She said they pressured her into signing adoption papers at the hospital. She was a minor with no money, no job, nowhere to go.
“So I signed,” she wrote. “But I did not stop loving her.”
Emily wrote that when Lily was three, she visited the children’s home once and watched her through a window.
She was too ashamed to go in. When she returned later, Lily had been adopted by an older couple. Staff told her we looked kind.
Emily said she went home and cried for days.
On the last page she wrote, “I am sick now. Cancer. I don’t know how much time I have.
I am not writing to take Lily back. I only want her to know she was wanted. If you think it is right, please tell her.”
I couldn’t move for a minute.
It felt like the kitchen had tilted.
Thomas read it, then said, “We tell her. It’s her story.”
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