The missing page bothered Luke more than anything else.
It wasn't the redactions.
It wasn't the incomplete reports.
It was the blank space.
A caseworker's note referred to a document dated three days before Emma's adoption.
The document wasn't in the file.
Luke noticed it while reading at the kitchen table.
"Mom."
I looked over.
"What's wrong?"
"This."
He pointed.
I read the line.
Document attached regarding sibling contact request.
"Where is it?"
"I don't know."
He stared at the folder.
"I need it."
We contacted the agency again.
This time, Denise came to our house.
She brought copies of everything she was legally permitted to release.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Luke sat across from her.
"Did someone decide we shouldn't contact each other?"
Denise took a breath.
"There were concerns about dependency."
"Dependency?"
"They believed Emma relied heavily on you."
"I was her brother."
"I know."
Luke leaned back.
"Did anyone ask me what I wanted?"
Denise hesitated.
"Not in the way they should have."
He nodded slowly.
That answer hurt more than an excuse would have.
"Was there a recommendation against contact?"
"There was a recommendation for temporary separation."
"Temporary?"
"Yes."
"How temporary?"
Denise looked at the documents.
"Six months."
Luke stared at her.
"Six months became years."
"Yes."
"Why?"
No one answered immediately.
Finally Denise said, "The adults involved changed. Cases transferred. Records were moved. Emma was adopted. You were moved between placements."
Luke's jaw tightened.
"So everyone assumed someone else was handling it."
"That appears to be what happened."
He looked away.
I watched his hands.
They were shaking.
Denise noticed too.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Luke looked at her.
"I know."
She lowered her eyes.
"But sorry doesn't give it back."
"No."
He closed the folder.
"I don't want an apology."
"What do you want?"
He thought for a long time.
"I want them to stop calling me difficult."
Denise looked at him.
"I can make sure your current records reflect what we now know."
Luke nodded.
"Do that."
After she left, he sat silently.
I expected anger.
Instead, he looked tired.
"Are you disappointed in me?"
I frowned.
"Why would I be?"
"Because I keep digging."
"No."
"What if I never stop?"
"Then we'll find a way to live with the questions."
He smiled faintly.
"You really mean that."
"Yes."
He nodded.
That night, Luke called Emma.
They talked for almost an hour.
When he hung up, he looked lighter.
"What did she say?"
"She wants to meet you."
"She sees you all the time."
"No."
He smiled.
"She wants to meet you without everyone else."
I understood.
Emma wanted to know me as Luke's mother.
Not as a caseworker.
Not as the woman who had adopted her brother.
As family.
The meeting happened on a Saturday.
Emma arrived carrying a small cake.
She placed it on the counter.
"I baked it."
Luke looked suspicious.
"You baked it?"
"Mostly."
"What does mostly mean?"
"Rachel helped."
He laughed.
We ate cake at the kitchen table.
Emma told me about school.
I told her about Grace.
Not everything.
Just enough.
I explained that Grace had loved yellow flowers.
That Noah used to leave cabinet doors open.
That their bedrooms still existed.
Emma listened quietly.
Then she asked, "Does it hurt?"
"Yes."
"Do you talk about them?"
"Sometimes."
"Luke does too."
I looked at him.
He nodded.
"I told her about them."
I smiled.
That mattered.
He wasn't treating Grace and Noah as ghosts who might somehow be replaced by Emma.
He was making room.
That afternoon, Emma wandered upstairs.
She stopped outside Grace's old room.
"Can I?"
"Yes."
She stepped inside.
Luke followed.
I stayed in the hallway.
They stood quietly.
Then Emma asked, "Who was she?"
"Grace."
"Your sister?"
"My sister."
Emma smiled.
"She sounds nice."
"She was."
Luke looked at the photographs on the wall.
"She liked yellow flowers."
"I know."
Emma touched the edge of a picture frame.
"Maybe we should plant some."
Luke looked at her.
"Here?"
"Yes."
He glanced at me.
I nodded.
So we did.
The following weekend, the three of us worked in the backyard.
Luke dug.
Emma planted.
I watered.
The soil was dark and damp.
Emma got dirt on her cheek.
Luke pointed.
"You have something."
"Where?"
"Your face."
"Where?"
He laughed.
"Other side."
She wiped the wrong cheek.
He laughed harder.
I stood there holding the watering can.
For a moment, I could almost hear Grace and Noah arguing over whose turn it was to use the hose.
The memory hurt.
But it didn't destroy the moment.
That was new.
That night, Luke sat beside me on the porch.
"I think I'm okay."
I looked at him.
"Okay?"
"Not all the way."
"Nobody is."
He smiled.
"I think I'm getting there."
Then his expression became serious.
"Mom?"
"Yes?"
"If I ever have kids, I want them to know Emma."
"You don't have to wait until then."
He laughed.
"I know."
He looked toward the flowerbed.
"I mean always."
I squeezed his hand.
"Then make sure they do."
He nodded.
There was still one unresolved question.
Why had Luke been so certain that every family eventually abandoned him?
The records explained some of it.
The ten placements explained more.
But there was something else.
Something he had never told me.
I sensed it when he mentioned his first foster placement.
He always changed the subject.
So one evening, I asked.
"What happened with the first family?"
He went very still.
"I don't want to talk about them."
"Okay."
He looked surprised.
"You really won't push?"
"No."
He nodded.
"Maybe someday."
"Whenever you're ready."
Months passed before he finally told me.
But when he did, I understood why the fear had begun so early.
And that conversation would change the way I understood the boy who had first sat by the window.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The First Family Had Taught Luke a Cruel Lesson About Belonging, and He Finally Told Me Why He Never Trusted Permanence
Ten Homes Had Already Closed Their Doors Behind Him, Yet the Quiet Boy by the Window Made Me Want to Sit Beside Him
Part 6 of 12
