Why had her father left anything with a social worker?
And why had she been instructed to wait until Sophie turned eighteen?
That evening, Emma told her daughter she had an appointment to attend the following morning.
Sophie, who was preparing for university entrance examinations, barely looked up from her books.
“Don’t forget my birthday cake, Mum,” she said with a smile. “Eighteen is a big deal.”
Emma forced herself to smile back.
“I wouldn’t forget that for anything.”
She had no idea that before the week was over, her daughter’s birthday would become the beginning of a journey neither of them had expected.
Elisabeth lived in a modest apartment above an old bakery.
When Emma arrived, the older woman greeted her warmly but looked unusually nervous. She prepared tea, invited Emma to sit down, and disappeared into the bedroom.
A moment later, she returned carrying a brown envelope.
“Your father gave me this about four years ago,” Elisabeth explained. “He was already very ill. He knew he might not have much time left.”
Emma stared at the envelope.
“Why didn’t he give it to me himself?”
Elisabeth lowered her eyes.
“Because he was afraid of what it might do to you.”
Emma’s fingers tightened around the paper.
“What is inside?”
“Read it. Then we can talk.”
The envelope contained several old photographs, copies of documents, a handwritten note, and a letter bearing her father’s familiar signature.
The sight of his handwriting made her throat tighten.
She unfolded the letter.
My darling Emma,
If you are reading this, Sophie has turned eighteen. I hope she has grown into a strong, kind young woman. I hope you have both found happiness, even after everything life put you through.
There is something I should have told you years ago.
When Sophie was born, Lucas’s parents came to our house. They wanted the whole situation to disappear. His father offered me money if I would stop asking their family to accept responsibility for what had happened.