Eventually, I stopped looking.
My life became schoolwork, meals, bedtime prayers, birthdays, illnesses, graduations, and making sure ten children knew somebody had chosen them.
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My parents remained furious about my decision and eventually stopped speaking to me.
Still, the years passed.
Amanda became a nurse.
Derrick opened an auto shop.
Sue became a teacher.
Jacob and David became engineers.
And little Sophie grew up to become a social worker helping vulnerable children herself.
Every Saturday, everyone returned to my house.
Children became adults. Adults brought spouses. Then came grandchildren.
Thirty years after Robert disappeared, one of those noisy Saturday gatherings was interrupted by a knock at the door.
A man in a gray suit introduced himself as Mr. Johnson.
He said he had been Robert’s attorney.
Then he handed me a thick envelope.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
Robert had recently died, Mr. Johnson explained, and had left instructions that the letter be delivered to me on this exact day.
