Chapter 10
Cal
“What are you doing here?” Beth asks when she sees me sitting in the kitchen.
“Good morning to you too, little sister,” I say. “We were up late, so I spent the night.”
I don’t tell her the real reason. Last night, we all sat down and agreed I should be the one to tell Beth about Elle.
She’s still in her flannel pajamas and fluffy slippers, looking every bit like the little girl I brought home all those years ago. She’s more like a daughter to me than a sister, and I love her just as deeply as I love Hannah.
I smile when she catches me staring.
“What?” she says, stifling a yawn as she runs her fingers through her tangled hair. “I haven’t even brushed my hair. I’m seriously considering going back to bed.”
“You lazy bum,” I tease, pouring milk over my cereal.
“Did Mom and Dad ditch us?” she asks, rummaging through the fridge.
“They took Hannah to the bakery to pick up some bagels.”
“Are they getting me a blue—?”
“Of course!” I cut in. “A blueberry bagel, toasted, topped with whipped cream cheese.”
"Okay," she says, shutting the refrigerator door. "Call me when they get back. I'm going back to bed."
"Hold on, Beth," I say before she starts back up the stairs.
She pauses and turns. "Beth?" she says, raising an eyebrow. "Wow, I can't remember the last time you called me that. Am I in trouble or... something?"
"Sit down for a minute," I say pulling a stool out for her next to me. "I have something to tell you."
"What is it?" she asks, easing onto the stool, sensing my mood.
"I really don’t know how to say this," I begin, "so I’m just going to say it."
"You’re scaring me, Cal," she says, her tone cautious now.
"We found Dani."
Her eyes dart from me to the cereal box, then to something far off in the distance. She doesn’t say anything at first—just sits there, as if those three words need time to settle, to be believed.
"Are you sure?" she asks, disbelief written all over her face. "How? When? Where is she?"
"She’s my new neighbor," I say gently, reaching for her hand. "I found out last night. We wanted you to know as soon as possible."
"Mom and Dad know?" she whispers, her eyes welling with tears. "Are they okay?"
"They’re fine, sweetheart," I say softly.
"Is she… nice?" she asks, her voice shaky, her eyes wide with a fragile mix of fear and hope.
"Yes," I say. "She's a beautiful, kind, gentle, selfless human being."
"Really?" she says, releasing a breath she'd been holding.
"Bethy," I begin gently, "she’s very angry at me right now."
"Why?" she asks, confusion knitting her brows.
"She thinks we kept you from her," I say, choosing honesty. "You're old enough now to understand why you two had to be separated."
"I know," she says softly. "Mom’s explained it to me so many times. It’s still hard, though."
"I know," I echo. "She's angry because she remembers that day. I was the one who took you from her arms. She sees me as the enemy. Like I stole you from her. I hurt her. I just… I need to explain, to tell her exactly how things happened. In the meantime, I think she’ll want to see you."
"Okay," she says, her eyes meeting mine. "When?"
"I think we should give her a little time to process everything. She’ll let us know when she’s ready."
"Where has she been?" she asks, her tone sharper now.
"She was in California," I begin. "A nurse. From the way she talks about you… it sounds like she’s been looking for you this whole time. Just like we searched for her and came up empty. I think she’s never stopped hoping."
"Are you sure she’ll want to see me?" she asks, her voice uncertain.
"Absolutely," I say. "Her desire to see you is just as strong as her desire never to see me again."
She frowns. "I’m sorry, Cal."
"Don’t be," I assure her. "Just know she loves you. Whatever happened—whatever kept you two apart—was beyond our control. Neither of us chose this. We just lost each other."
The door swings open, and Hannah walks in, holding a fruit smoothie in one hand and half-eaten bagel in the other.
“Breakfast of champions,” I say with a grin.
“Hi, Daddy,” she replies, climbing onto my lap.
Mom’s eyes light up when she sees Beth, and the two of them embrace warmly.
“I love you, Mommy,” Beth says softly. “Thank you for being my mom.”
“I love you too, Baby,” Mom replies, glancing over at me.
I nod at Mom, letting her know she’s aware of Elle.
“Daddy!” Beth calls out as Dad walks in carrying a bag of bagels and a drink holder with three cups. “Is my bagel in there?”
“You bet,” Dad says, kissing her on the forehead. “We also got you a chocolate mocha.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” she says, grinning as she plants a kiss on his cheek.
She’s Elle’s sister, but she’s been ours this whole time. A part of this family in every way that matters.
I taught her how to ride a bike. Seth pulled her first tooth. Nate taught her how to play soccer. Thomas taught her how to belch the alphabet, much to Mom’s horror and her absolute delight. Now, he’s teaching her how to cook.
Mom and Dad have spent the last ten years loving her, raising her, guiding her—just like they did with us. With the kind of unwavering devotion that’s rare in this world.
Elle might be angry that she missed it all. And I get that. I do.
But I pray that when the dust settles, she’ll see it too—that Beth’s had a family who’s loved her every single day.
***
“Can I call Mommy and ask if she wants to come play with us?” Hannah’s question cuts straight through me. She always thinks of her mother whenever we go to the park.
If I believed, even for a second, that her mom might say yes, I’d make the call every time. But I know better. I’ve seen that hopeful spark fade from Hannah’s eyes too many times.
“Do you think she’ll come this time, Daddy?”
I hand her the phone and watch as she carefully scrolls through the contact list, her little fingers finding Meg’s number. We both wait in silence as it rings.
“It’s ringing!” she says, her eyes darting around the park as if scanning for her mother already.
“Mommy? This is Hannah—your daughter.”
I smile, but it’s the kind that hurts. The fact that she thinks she has to remind her own mother who she is… says everything about their relationship.
"Hi, Mommy. Hi. Do you want to come to the park to play with me and Daddy?"
I can only hear her side of the conversation, but I don’t need to hear the rest. I watch her face carefully, every shift in expression. When she starts tugging the hem of her shirt, it takes everything in me not to reach for the phone.
"You can’t? Aah, Mommy..."
Silence.
"Next weekend? When? Saturday or Sunday?"
More silence.
"You’re going to church on Sunday? Can I come with you?"
Still nothing. But I can see it—Hannah’s getting nervous now. She bites her lip, voice softer.
"Why are you laughing?"
I clench my fists, fighting the urge to grab the phone.
"Okay... You promise to call me on Friday? Okay. I lov—hello?"
She blinks.
"She hung up."
"She was probably busy, baby," I say, though I can't hide the disappointment, or the disapproval in my voice.
"Yeah," Hannah whispers. "She's probably busy."
I crouch in front of her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Do you want to go get some ice cream?" I ask, trying to lift her spirits, desperate to shift her focus away from yet another letdown. "We could get sprinkles. Or gummy bears. Whatever you want."
I've been using this tactic for years. First with Beth—back when she’d ask about her sister, her lower lip trembling, tears just on the edge.
"I want Dani," she'd say, her voice small and unsure.
"I’ll take you to see your sister as soon as she gets permission," I’d promise, wondering when that day would come.
According to the group home staff, Dani was struggling with major behavioral issues that had to be addressed before visitors were allowed.
I did my best to ease Beth’s worries, and back then, ice cream always seemed to do the trick.
But not today.
"Why doesn’t Mommy want to see us?"
Hannah’s question yanks me back to the present.
"She works long hours," I say gently. "She sees you whenever she’s able."
“She's never able,” Hannah whispers, her bottom lip pushing out. “Never.”
“Come on,” I say, taking her hand. “I’m getting chocolate. How about you?”
“Can I get vanilla and strawberry?”
“With sprinkles on top?”
“Yeah!”
I might not be winning the war, but today, one small victory is enough.