A week later, Isabelle stood in her grandparents’ living room, Kara beside her.
“You took her choice away,” Isabelle said.
Her grandmother stiffened. “We did what was necessary.”
“You took her choice to keep me.”
Isabelle stepped closer. “Necessary for who? My mother carried guilt for 20 years. And I started life with abandonment.”
No one answered after that.
That evening, we sat under the porch. Izzy looked at both of us.
“No more secrets,” she said. “I can live with pain. But I can’t live with lies.”
Kara nodded, tears in her eyes. “No more lies.”
I looked at both of them. Twenty years after a baby was left at my door, the people she belonged to were finally standing on the right side of it.”
