“Yes.”
“You let Zane make those decisions while I was unconscious.”
“Yes.”
“Would you do it now?”
“No.”
Immediate.
Good.
“Why?”
“Because good intentions do not create consent.”
I looked at her.
She had spent years understanding it.
Zane too.
Everyone eventually became wise after I paid the tuition.
Then Emily asked:
“Do you have the letter my biological mother wrote?”
Helen went still.
Rebecca leaned forward.
“I gave it to you.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to it?”
Helen stood.
Left the room.
Returned carrying a small locked metal box.
“I kept copies of everything.”
My pulse rose.
“Why?”
“Because after two weeks I realized what we had done.”
She handed me an envelope.
Original.
Yellowed.
Across the front:
FOR MY DAUGHTER AND THE WOMAN RAISING HER
Emily began crying before opening it.
Rebecca looked away.
Emily read aloud.
My baby,
I don't know what name they will give you.
I called you June while I carried you because June was the first month I believed I might get away.
