I remember exactly what we agreed to, even if we’ve both told ourselves different stories since.

You came to me when you were pregnant and barely holding yourself together. You told me you loved your baby, but you were afraid of what would happen if you tried to raise her the way things were then.

I looked up at the stranger. “What is this?”

“Just keep reading.”

When I offered to adopt her, it wasn’t because I wanted to take something from you. It was because I thought I could hold things steady until you could breathe again.

My fingers tightened around the paper. One of Rachel’s children wasn’t actually hers? And I had never known?

We decided to keep it private. You didn’t want questions. I didn’t want explanations. I told people I was pregnant because it felt easier than telling the truth. And because I believed it protected all of us.