Daniel looked at the floor.
“No.”
There it was.
Ethan went still.
“When did you know?”
Daniel’s voice almost disappeared.
“About four years later.”
I stared.
“You knew by then that no one in the family knew where Ethan was?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
“Yes.”
Mom’s letter continued.
Ethan read silently for a while.
Then handed it to me.
I read.
Daniel came to me after your twenty-first birthday. He confessed that Rachel had died believing you had been adopted by a family who would write to us once you were older. No letters ever came because no adoption like that took place. Your foster placement had broken down, and you moved through multiple homes before aging out of care.
My vision blurred.
Ethan had been homeless after foster care.
Not because no one existed.
Because our family had stopped looking.
I read on.
Daniel begged me not to tell you immediately. He said finding you after so many years might do more harm than good. I agreed for too long. That was my mistake, not yours.
