Chapter 11
Danielle
I’m sitting on the couch when Tina walks in at midnight.
I’m not watching TV. Not reading. Just sitting—staring out the window, wondering when I’ll get to see Izzy again.
“You’re still up,” Tina says. Then, seeing my face, her voice softens. “Is everything okay?”
“They painted a picture of me that wasn’t true,” I begin. “They made me out to be unstable—like I was some kind of threat to my own sister.”
“Who?” Tina asks, her voice calm but concerned. “Who’s ‘they’?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur, knowing I’m not making any sense but too overwhelmed to care how irrational I sound. “They recommended a closed adoption… said I had behavioral problems.”
“Who?” she asks again, more firmly this time.
“I don’t know!” I shout, slapping my palm against my forehead like I can knock the lies loose—beat the ache out of my head. “I don’t know!”
“Okay,” she says gently. “Slow down, Elle. I want to understand, but you have to help me out here.”
“It’s all in the report,” I say, reaching for my laptop. I open the email and motion for her to sit and read.
As she settles in front of the screen, I bite a nail and retreat to the couch, my chest tight. I sit in silence, watching her, waiting for it to sink in—waiting for her to understand.
I can see the tension building in Tina—her jaw tightening, the temples in her forehead throbbing.
“Those bast—”
“I never ran away!” I exclaim, the bitterness spilling out of me. “I was a model citizen, Tina. I was so careful, counting down the days until I could see my sister again.”
“Were you ever told you’d be able to see her?” she asks.
“Not in so many words,” I say. “But they dangled that carrot in front of me for years. I thought she was in a foster home. They never told me she’d been adopted until the day I left.
The day I turned eighteen, they handed me my few belongings and told me, in no uncertain terms, to get out.
I was no longer a ward of the state. I asked to see Izzy and was told she’d been adopted.
It was a closed adoption, and I’d never see her again. ”
“Elle, who is they?”
“Miss Fletcher,” I say. “The assistant director at the group home. Besides my counselor, she was the only one I ever really talked to about Izzy. She was the liaison between me and my sister. She kept me ‘informed,’ supposedly. But she never told me Izzy was adopted.”
“What exactly did Miss Fletcher tell you about Izzy?” Tina asks, lifting an eyebrow, suspicious.
“She told me she was fine. Doing well. Healthy. She let me know when she started kindergarten. When she had a good birthday.”
“They probably didn’t want you to act out or run away,” Tina says. “So they told you just enough to keep you appeased.”
“I never gave them a reason for concern,” I say, my voice firm.
“I never lost my temper with anyone in the home. I kept my head down, focused on my grades—knowing I’d need a scholarship and financial aid if I ever wanted to go to college.
I knew that once I turned eighteen, I’d be homeless.
A cruel detail that turned out to be my harsh reality. ”
“I slept on friends’ couches, in motels when I had the money, even in homeless shelters a few times—until I was finally able to move into the dorm.” I glance at her and smile. “Where I met you.”
“Oh, Elle,” Tina says softly. “I never knew.”
“Not my proudest moments,” I admit. “I had a part-time job waitressing. The tips were decent. Just enough to keep myself off the streets—barely.”
***
The knock on the door at nine in the morning makes both of us jump. We’re still sprawled out on the large sectional in the den, where we fell asleep just a few hours ago.
“Are you expecting someone?” I ask, rubbing my eyes.
“No,” Tina says, sitting up. “We don’t know anyone, remember?”
“It’s Cal,” I say quietly.
“Who else could it be?” she mutters.
“Tell him I’m not here.”
I turn and start down the hall.
“Elle,” Tina calls after me, “your car’s outside.”
“Then tell him I went for a run.”
I take the stairs two at a time and duck into my bedroom. My reflection in the mirror says it all—the red puffiness around my eyes, the dark circles beneath them. My eyes are bloodshot—stark proof of how many hours I spent crying.
I splash cold water on my face, brush my teeth, and run a brush through my tangled hair. Then I wait.
Curiosity gets the best of me. I crack the bedroom door open just enough to listen.
Voices. Tina’s, a woman’s, and a man’s.
Not Cal’s.
The soft knock on the door jerks my head toward it.
“Elle?” Tina’s voice floats in, gentle, but louder than a thousand trumpets in the silence, making my heart gallop in my chest.
"Who is it?" I ask, barely breathing.
“It’s Cal’s mom and dad,” she says. “Well… they’re here as Beth’s parents. They want to speak with you.”
“Is Izzy… Beth, with them?”
Tina shakes her head. “No. She’s not.”
“Of course she’s not,” I murmur. “What was I thinking?”
“They’re trying to protect her?” Tina says, more question than statement.
“They don’t need to protect her from me,” I snap, already moving for the door.
***
The Callahans are sitting on the couch, but as soon as they see me, they rise to their feet.
“Hi,” I say, offering my hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Callahan.”
"Oh my gosh," Mrs. Callahan whispers. "You look just like Beth."
Mr. Callahan chuckles, a little uneasy. "Actually, it’s Beth who looks just like you."
"Please, have a seat," I say, gesturing to the couch. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water?"
"No, we're fine. Thank you," Mrs. Callahan replies politely.
I nod and take a seat across from them on the loveseat.
“We’re here to talk about Beth,” Mr. Callahan says, offering me a tentative smile.
“I’m not giving up my right to see her or be part of her life,” I say, my tone sharper than I intend.
“Elle,” Mr. Callahan begins gently, “we never intended to keep you two apart.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “You kept her from me for four years.”
“Is that what you think?” Mrs. Callahan asks, her voice calm.
“That’s what I know,” I snap. “A closed adoption? What did you think would happen? You never let me see her.”
“We were told you needed to attend anger management and therapy to cope with… everything,” she says carefully.
I shake my head, the disbelief rising like a wave. “I can’t believe this.”
"Elle, I think there’s been a misunderstanding," Mrs. Callahan says. "Something got lost in translation, because we—"
I stand. "I want to see my sister," I cut in sharply, unwilling to let her finish.
Mr. Callahan gives a quiet nod. “Okay. She’s waiting outside.”
“She’s here?” The words barely leave my lips. Shock knocks the wind out of me.
And just like that, I’m acutely aware of everything—my red, swollen eyes, my tangled hair, the clothes I slept in. I look like exactly what they were warned about. Unhinged. Dangerous. The unstable girl with something to prove.
I take a breath, but it doesn’t help. It doesn’t reach the place where I need it most. And then, it happens. The tears I’ve been holding back break loose, one after the other.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Mrs. Callahan murmurs. “Elle, we are so sorry.”
I swipe at my eyes, trying to will myself into composure, but my hands are shaking, and my throat is tight.
“I can’t let her see me like this,” I say, my voice on the verge of panic.
Mrs. Callahan stands slowly, her eyes kind, brimming with sympathy. “She’s nervous too," she says. "She doesn’t know what to expect.”
I nod, barely able to hold her gaze. My heart pounds so loud I can hear it in my ears.
“I just… I need a minute.”
“Take all the time you need,” she says gently.
I glance toward the hallway mirror, run my fingers under my eyes to clean up the smudged mascara, and smooth my hair back. My chest tightens as I draw a breath, the weight of years pressing down on me.
“She’s right outside?”
Mr. Callahan nods. “She’s waiting in the car."
"Elle," Mrs. Callahan begins, "she can't wait to see you.”
I close my eyes, nod, and whisper, “Okay. I’m ready.”
Even if I’m not.
***
When I step outside, I see Izzy sitting on the trunk of the car, her posture slumped in quiet thought. She doesn’t notice me at first. She’s nervously biting a nail. She gets that from me.
When our eyes finally meet, I smile. She smiles back, but it’s hesitant, like she’s unsure whether to trust this moment.
As I walk toward her, my eyes sweep over her, confirming what I already know: she’s our mother’s daughter.
From the golden curls framing her face to the freckles on the bridge of her nose, the long piano fingers, and the nails bitten down to the quick.
“Hi,” I say, offering her a tentative smile. I want to collapse, to let the tears fall, but I hold it together. For her sake, I refuse to scare her away.
“Dani?” she whispers, stepping off the car to face me.
I nod, the quiet smile still on my lips, unsure of what to do next, unsure of what to say.
I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times over the years, but now that it’s finally here, I’m paralyzed by the uncertainty of what she’ll allow.
Can I touch her? Would she want me to? Would she want anything from me?
"Can I hug you?" she asks, and that simple question breaks me. I don’t hesitate. I reach for her and pull her into my arms, holding her close.
"God, I've missed you," I murmur, my voice thick as I wrap her in my arms. The way I used to, a thousand times before she was taken from me. The way I did to keep her safe, to remind her she was loved, to let her know I’d always be there for her. Even though I wasn’t.
But right now, none of that matters. The only thing that matters is that she’s here. We’re together again, and I won’t let anyone take her from me. Not now. Not ever. Over my dead body.
"You still smell like I remember," she whispers, her arms squeezing me tightly—as if, if she lets go, I’ll vanish from her life again.
"Really?" I ask, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "I was up most of the night and haven’t showered."
She laughs quietly. "It’s a familiar scent," she says softly. "I can’t tell you how many perfumes I’ve sampled over the years trying to find your scent. But I think it’s just you. You smell like home."
"Oh, Izzy," I murmur, squeezing her a little tighter. "I know exactly what you mean. I’ve missed you, baby. I’ve missed you so much."
"I'm not a baby anymore," she says, her smile widening as she steps back slightly, her gaze assessing me with a playful glint.
"I know," I reply, a soft chuckle escaping me. "Look at you, you're almost as tall as me. But to me, you’ll always be that four-year-old toddler I remember. And you'll always be my baby."
She pauses, then smiles wider, a hint of fondness in her eyes. "I'm okay with that."
"Do you want to come inside?" I suggest. "Maybe have something to drink?"
"Okay," she says, linking arms with me. She doesn’t say much, but her smile says it all—soft, genuine, allowing herself to feel at ease, while I allow myself to be truly happy for the first time in almost a decade.
***
As we step inside, the Callahans rise to their feet, their presence still warm but respectful of the moment.
Mr. Callahan's gaze lingers on Izzy with a mix of pride and understanding.
"We’ll give you some space," he says softly. "It’s important you two have time to talk."
Mrs. Callahan gives Izzy a gentle smile, her eyes brimming with love. "Give us a call when you're ready, and we'll come back to pick you up."
"I can take her home," I offer.
"That'll be fine," Mr. Callahan says. "Stay as long as you want."
"Thank you," I say, offering them a grateful smile as they begin to walk away.
Once the door clicks shut behind them, we hear Tina’s footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Who’s that?” Izzy asks.
“Izzy,” I begin when we see Tina, “Sorry, I meant Beth. This is my best friend, Tina.”
“Hi, Beth,” Tina says, going in for a hug when Izzy offers her hand. "I'm more like a sister, so that makes you and me like sisters too.”
“I like that!” Izzy exclaims, a big smile forming on her lips.
"I’m going for a run," Tina announces. "Beth, it was nice meeting you. I’ll be back in an hour."
Izzy and I exchange a glance as Tina leaves.
"Where should we begin?" I ask, pulling Izzy onto the couch.
She tucks her legs under her and leans back, as if preparing to share her life with me.
"Tell me everything," I say. "I want to know all about the Callahans—what it was like growing up with them."
"In that case," Izzy says with a chuckle, "get ready, it’s gonna be a crazy ride."