Then I found something else.
The photograph of my mother and Mrs. Hale, young and laughing, standing beside a car. Written on the back were six words.
“Thank you for watching over him.”
My vision blurred.
“The birthday parties were never about birthdays.”
I looked up. “What?”
Mrs. Hale smiled. “I needed a reason to stay in your life.”
Suddenly, everything clicked. The money, the invitations, the phone calls, the questions, the concern. All of it had been about trust.
She’d spent ten years building trust. She’d never wanted anything from me. She’d only been afraid she hadn’t earned the right to simply show up.
Mrs. Hale smiled faintly.
“Do you remember asking why I always saved that chair for you?”
I nodded.
“You said it was my seat.”
