Grief makes you do strange things. A week after losing Emily, I found myself dismantling our photo frames, desperate to hold every memory of her. That’s when I found it – tucked behind our favorite vacation picture was a Polaroid of my wife holding a newborn. The date: 1992. Six years before we met.
The adoption agency confirmed what the photo suggested – Emily had a child at nineteen she’d placed with a loving family. “She requested annual updates,” the social worker told me, “but never made contact. She wanted her daughter to have the childhood she couldn’t provide.”
Meeting Lily was like discovering a new chapter of Emily’s life. Her mannerisms, her expressions – all so familiar yet brand new. We cried over shared memories she never experienced firsthand and laughed at how they both hated cilantro.
Now, Lily comes for dinner every Sunday. She brings her fiancé and tells stories about “Auntie Em,” the mysterious woman who sent birthday cards without a return address. Emily’s secret wasn’t a lie – it was a selfless act that gave two people wonderful lives. And now, in the most unexpected way, it’s given us both someone to love.
