I waited until Leo had gone upstairs before I said anything.
Ethan stood at the kitchen counter, staring at the staircase.
“He expected you to recognize it,” he said.
“I think so.”
“That isn't normal.”
“No.”
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
The refrigerator hummed behind us.
Outside, a truck passed on the street.
Ordinary sounds.
Ordinary morning.
But nothing about the morning felt ordinary anymore.
I picked up my phone.
“I need to call Mom.”
Ethan nodded.
My mother answered on the third ring.
“Good morning.”
“Mom, do you remember Dad's silver watch?”
There was a pause.
“The one with the black face?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I swallowed.
“Leo has it.”
Another pause.
This one lasted longer.
“What do you mean, Leo has it?”
“I found it in the things he brought with him.”
“That isn't possible.”
“I thought so too.”
My mother breathed out slowly.
“Are you sure it's your father's?”
“I know that watch.”
“Maybe someone bought the same model.”
“No.”
I could hear the uncertainty enter her voice.
“What did you say?”
“I said I'm certain.”
“Where did he get it?”
“He says someone gave it to him.”
“Who?”
“He won't tell me.”
My mother was silent again.
Then she said something that made my stomach tighten.
“I thought your father gave that watch away.”
“When?”
“I don't remember exactly.”
“Before he died?”
“Yes.”
“How long before?”
“A year, perhaps.”
“Who did he give it to?”
“I don't know.”
I closed my eyes.
“Mom, you never told me he gave it away.”
“I assumed you knew.”
“I didn't.”
“I thought Daniel had mentioned it.”
“He didn't.”
My mother sighed.
“Your father had become very private toward the end.”
“He was private his entire life.”
“That isn't fair.”
“Maybe not.”
I heard her set something down.
“Why are you asking me this now?”
“Because the watch is with Leo.”
Silence.
Then:
“Sophie, what exactly are you saying?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Is Leo the boy you adopted?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Why would he have Daniel's watch?”
“That is what I'm trying to find out.”
My mother did not answer.
I could feel a question forming in the silence.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Mom.”
“I just remembered something.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“What?”
“Daniel used to leave the house on Saturdays.”
“I know.”
“He said he was helping someone.”
“Do you know who?”
“No.”
“Did he ever mention a child?”
“No.”
She hesitated.
“At least not to me.”
I caught the qualification.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I may not have known everything your father was doing.”
“Apparently neither did I.”
“I didn't mean—”
“I know.”
We ended the call a few minutes later.
I remained at the kitchen table.
Ethan poured himself more coffee.
“Anything useful?”
“Dad gave the watch away before he died.”
“That sounds like progress.”
“Not really.”
“Why?”
“Because he apparently never told me who received it.”
Ethan sat down.
“Could the agency know?”
“About the watch?”
“About whoever gave it to Leo.”
“I can ask.”
I hesitated.
Then I remembered the way Leo had looked at the watch.
Not affection.
Recognition.
That distinction bothered me.
He hadn't looked like a child remembering a favorite gift.
He had looked like a child remembering a promise.
That afternoon, I decided not to question him.
Instead, I suggested that we look through the photographs we had printed for his room.
Leo sat cross-legged on the floor.
He liked pictures.
He kept asking about our childhoods.
“What was Dad like?”
I looked at a photograph of Daniel standing beside a barbecue grill.
“Loud.”
Leo smiled.
“Was he funny?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did he cook?”
“He believed putting meat on a grill counted as cooking.”
Leo laughed.
I turned another photograph.
My father was younger in this one.
Maybe fifty.
He was standing beside me.
The silver watch was on his wrist.
Leo leaned closer.
“That one.”
“What?”
“Your dad.”
“Yes.”
“He looks younger.”
I stopped turning the page.
“You've seen him before?”
Leo's eyes widened.
“No.”
“You said he looks younger.”
“I mean in the picture.”
I studied his face.
He looked frightened.
Not of me.
Of what he had accidentally revealed.
“Leo.”
He looked down.
“Did the man who gave you the watch look like my father?”
Leo did not answer.
That was answer enough.
My hands went cold.
“Was his name Daniel?”
He looked up sharply.
I barely breathed.
“Leo?”
His lower lip trembled.
“Yes.”
Ethan was in the doorway.
Neither of us had heard him arrive.
“Did you say Daniel?”
Leo nodded.
Ethan came into the room slowly.
“How did you know him?”
Leo looked at me.
“He used to visit.”
“Where?”
“The place where I lived.”
“Which place?”
Leo shrugged.
“There were different places.”
I felt a wave of anger toward the system, toward circumstances, toward every adult who had known pieces of this story while I had known none.
But I kept my voice gentle.
“What did Daniel do when he visited?”
“He brought things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Books.”
Leo counted on his fingers.
“Shoes. Burgers. Once he brought a blue jacket.”
“Did he ever tell you who he was?”
Leo shook his head.
“What did you call him?”
“Daniel.”
“Not Grandpa?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you not to call him that?”
Leo looked confused.
“I didn't know he was my grandpa.”
The room went still.
Ethan looked at me.
I felt as though the floor had shifted beneath us.
“Did Daniel ever tell you about me?”
Leo thought.
“He said you had curly hair.”
I almost laughed from shock.
“What else?”
“He said you liked books.”
“That sounds like me.”
“He said you were stubborn.”
Ethan smiled despite himself.
“That definitely sounds like her.”
Leo smiled too.
Then his expression became serious.
“He said you would come.”
My smile disappeared.
“Come where?”
“He didn't say.”
“Did he tell you that we would adopt you?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you to ask for us?”
“No.”
“Then what did he mean?”
Leo shrugged.
“He just said you'd come.”
That night, after Leo went to bed, Ethan and I sat in the living room.
“Your father knew him,” Ethan said.
“Yes.”
“Maybe he volunteered at the foster center.”
“That was my first thought.”
“It makes sense.”
“It does.”
“You said your father used to disappear on Saturdays.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe that was where he went.”
I nodded.
For the first time since finding the watch, the pieces seemed to fit.
My father volunteered.
He met Leo.
He became attached to him.
He gave him the watch.
That was strange, but understandable.
It was an explanation.
I needed one.
The next morning, I called the social worker who had been involved with Leo's placement.
“Can I ask you something about Daniel?”
She became cautious.
“What about him?”
“Did he volunteer with Leo?”
There was a pause.
“What makes you ask?”
“I found something that belonged to him.”
“I can't discuss confidential records.”
“I am not asking about Leo's records.”
“You are asking about his relationship with Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“I understand.”
“Did Daniel volunteer there?”
Another pause.
“No.”
My stomach dropped.
“No?”
“No.”
“Then what was he doing there?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Was he a mentor?”
“No.”
“A donor?”
“No.”
“Family?”
Silence.
I closed my eyes.
“Was he related to Leo?”
“I need to end this call.”
“Please.”
“I am sorry.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Ethan watched me.
“What did she say?”
“He wasn't a volunteer.”
“Did she say what he was?”
“No.”
I stood.
“I need to talk to Mom again.”
This time, I drove to her house.
She opened the door and looked at me.
“You look frightened.”
“Was Dad married before you?”
Her face changed.
I didn't need another answer.
I stepped inside.
She closed the door.
“Who was she?”
My mother looked toward the kitchen.
“Sophie…”
“Who was Dad's first wife?”
“It wasn't a marriage.”
“What was it?”
“A relationship.”
“With whom?”
My mother sat down.
“Your father had a daughter.”
The sentence barely registered.
“What?”
“A daughter.”
“I know I was his daughter.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“You had a sister.”
I stared at her.
“How old?”
“Older than you.”
“Where is she?”
My mother looked down.
“She died.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“Why didn't I know?”
“Because Daniel didn't want you to.”
I felt something inside me crack.
“What was her name?”
“Rachel.”
“Why didn't he tell me?”
“Because things between them had become very complicated.”
I laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
“Of course.”
My mother looked at me.
“Your father always used that word.”
“He used it whenever he wanted me to stop asking questions.”
She nodded.
“What happened to Rachel?”
“She left home when she was young.”
“Did Dad abandon her?”
My mother hesitated.
“I don't know exactly.”
“You knew she existed.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“Daniel asked me not to.”
“And you agreed.”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“From what?”
“The truth.”
I stood near the window.
“What truth?”
My mother looked exhausted.
“Rachel had a child.”
Everything inside me went quiet.
“A son?”
“Yes.”
“What was his name?”
She looked at me.
“Leo.”
I sat down.
The room seemed suddenly too small.
“Leo is Rachel's son.”
“Yes.”
“My son.”
“Yes.”
“And Dad knew.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
My mother shook her head.
“I don't know.”
I covered my face.
The watch.
The visits.
The Saturdays.
The way Leo recognized him.
The promise that someone would recognize the watch.
Everything I had called coincidence had been connected.
But there was another question.
“How did we end up adopting Leo?”
My mother did not answer.
“Mom?”
“I think your father wanted you to find him.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“He knew you and Ethan were trying to adopt.”
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I don't know.”
The room felt colder.
“Did Dad arrange it?”
“No.”
“Did he ask someone to choose us?”
“No.”
“But he knew.”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“That's enough.”
I walked toward the door.
“Sophie.”
I stopped.
My mother said quietly:
“Your father was ashamed.”
I turned.
“He knew he had lost years with Rachel. He couldn't bring her back.”
“And Leo?”
“He wanted Leo to have someone who would stay.”
I left without answering.
On the drive home, I kept thinking about the first time I had seen Leo.
Three years earlier.
Before the paperwork.
Before the adoption.
Before I knew his name.
My father had been there.
And suddenly I remembered something I had forgotten.
He had pointed toward a little boy sitting alone.
Leo.
“Have you spoken to that child?” Dad had asked.
At the time, I thought he was simply being kind.
Now I wasn't sure.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: My Father’s Secret Had a Name and a Face, but One Memory From the Day We Met Leo Made Me Question Whether Our Adoption Was Ever an Accident
The Boy Arrived Carrying Almost Nothing, Yet the First Thing I Found Among His Few Belongings Made My Hands Go Cold
Part 2 of 12
