Susan told the story concisely, without making excuses: her husband’s illness, the debts, the collectors’ threats. She spoke simply, stating facts, not trying to elicit pity.
“I only remember the feelings,” Maria confessed, comparing the story to what she already knew. “Feeling unwanted. Feeling like I didn’t belong in the world.”
“But I did want you!” her mother interrupted, the pain of twenty years in her voice. “I always wanted you. Every day, every minute of all those years.”
Maria began to cry, quietly, almost silently.
“Why didn’t you look for us sooner?” she asked through her tears. “Why didn’t you find us?”
“I did look.” Susan took the worn folder from her purse. “I looked for seventeen years. But I was afraid of disrupting your new life. I thought you had been adopted by good people.”
Maria took the folder, flipping through the PI business cards and letters from social services. She knew her mother was telling the truth.
Maria began to talk about the group home: the cold walls, the institutional food, the nightmares. About her fear that no one would ever take her home. Susan listened and understood the full extent of the damage her decision had caused.
“Forgive me, my sweet girl,” she wept. “Forgive me for all that pain.”
“I was angry for twenty years,” Maria replied wearily. “I hated you without even knowing your name. I’m tired of being angry. I just want to move on.”
She reached across the table and, for the first time, touched her mother’s hand. Susan froze, afraid to break the spell.
“Can I hug you?” she asked in a whisper.
Maria nodded. They stood up and embraced in the middle of the cafe, crying with both pain and relief. Alex watched them and felt it: his family was finally whole. The patrons at nearby tables tactfully looked away, respecting the intimacy of the moment.
When the first tears had dried, they sat back down and cautiously began to make plans. Alex looked at his mother and sister and knew the hardest part was over; his family was reunited.
“I want you to meet Dennis,” Maria said, wiping her eyes with a napkin. “He’s a good man. You’ll like him.”
“And I want to hear about your lives,” Susan replied. “Everything. Every single day I missed.”
They agreed to meet regularly, at least once a week, to slowly and carefully rebuild their family bonds.
“Maybe we could celebrate Dad’s birthday?” Alex suggested. “All together, as a family. He would be so happy to see us.”
“The three of us will go to the cemetery,” his mother agreed, her eyes filling with tears. “We’ll tell him we found each other.”
“And then to that forest,” Maria added, surprising herself. “I want to see the place where we were little.”
A month of regular meetings passed. The fears dissipated, the awkwardness faded, and they grew accustomed to one another. Susan suggested they all go to the forest together—with Maria and Dennis, who was already considered part of the family.
In the familiar clearing, among the tall pines, they spread out a blanket and had a picnic, just like in the old days. Alex showed Maria the spots where they used to play, pointing out where they built forts and picked mushrooms.
“You used to sleep in your stroller under this pine tree,” Susan said, pointing to the tallest one. “And Alex would stand guard, shooing away mosquitoes with a little branch…”
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