Page 55 of Holding Ground

She takes my hand and squeezes. “That’s the thing—I did have a mother growing up. My birth mom and my dad had a one-night stand, and she never told my dad about me. When my mom died, my dad was notified. Shortly after, my dad took me in, he got together with Molly, and she raised me as her own. She’s never been my stepmom. I’ve always thought of her as my mom.”

I blink in surprise. “Your dad didn’t know you existed?”

I can’t imagine finding out about Baylor when she was three years old, knowing I had missed so much of her life already.

“No, my mom never told my dad, and since there was no one else for me to go live with, I was plopped on his doorstep in Alaska. Metaphorically speaking.”

“That must’ve been a hell of a surprise. Why didn’t your mom ever tell him?”

She shrugs, pulling her hand away from mine. I immediately want to take it back, wanting to tell her she can talk to me, to trust me.

“Who knows? I don’t remember my mom at all, not even what she looked like. All I’ve ever known is the family I was raised by. They loved me and never made me feel unwanted.”

“But…” I arch an eyebrow.

“My parents never did anything to make me feel any different, but once my siblings came along, I began feeling like I didn’t quite fit in. It wasn’t anything anyone ever said or did. It was just little things. Like how people would say my sister looked so much like our mom, but no one had ever said that to me, for obvious reasons, how my birth certificate had a different last name. Once in elementary school, we had to do a project tracing our ancestry, and I did Molly’s side. When I presented it to the class, I remember feeling like a fraud, like I was lying because it wasn’t really my history. And every time I feel that way, I’m swallowed up by guilt. Why can’t it be enough? I’m lucky that after my birth mother died, I was still able to have a complete family who loved me. Lots of kids don’t get that lucky. But here I am, wondering what my birth mother was like, what her story was, where and who I come from.”

“Emelia, you’re talking like you’re not entitled to your feelings.”

“I’m not. How can I be? My parents loved me so much. How am I even halfway entitled to the way I feel?”

I sit up across from her and take her hands. “Have you ever told your parents how you feel?”

She shakes her head. “How could I? We never even talked about my birth mother when I was growing up because no one knew her. It wasn’t like my dad was dating her when she got pregnant with me. And I don’t fault them. They probably thought talking about her might make me feel less than my siblings. I don’t think they knew it was something I wondered about. It was a case of don’t bring it up, and it didn’t happen. But for me, there was always this big thing, this big part of me, that was never spoken of, almost like she never existed.”

“Your parents sound like they’re really great people. Maybe if you talked to them about this, you’d feel better.”

“Well, I’m going to have to now, anyway.”

My forehead wrinkles. “How come?”

She blows out a breath. “Shortly after I arrived in Echo Lake, my doctor called. Something came up in my bloodwork, and one of the questions she asked was about the medical history on my maternal side. It’s not the first time it’s ever happened in my life, but something about it hit me hard this time. Maybe because I’m here, in a small town so similar to my hometown.”

A flash of fear surges through me like a lightning bolt. I finally feel like I want to see what this is between us, and now there might be something wrong? “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know for sure, but the doctor wasn’t overly concerned.”

I nod, not feeling entirely settled by her answer, but I trust that she would know.

“I…I decided to see if I can track down anyone from my mom’s side of the family to see if what the blood test showed is something genetic.”

“And did you?”

“Sort of. A woman who went to high school with her responded to my message and said that she’d try to get hold of my biological mom’s cousin for me. Tonight, when I was on my computer…” She swallows hard and looks away. “She responded to let me know she’d contacted her and asked her to reach out to me. But that’s not what got me emotional. She sent me some pictures of my mom from high school that she was able to dig up. I didn’t want to tell her I was her daughter, so I ended up just saying I was a distant relative. Those pictures…” Her eyes swim with tears. “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a picture of my birth mother.”

There are equal parts devastation and awe in her voice. I lean forward and pull her into my arms again.

“That must’ve been really emotional.”

I didn’t have my mom in my life growing up, but I know what she looked like. I heard stories from my father and people around town about what she was like, what she found funny, how much she loved my siblings and me. If I ever want to see pictures of her, there are plenty to dig out of old photo albums. At least I have those things to cling to.

The idea of knowing nothing about my mom—not even what she looks like—is unfathomable.

Emelia nods into my shoulder. “I didn’t expect it to hit me so hard. I didn’t realize how much I needed to know what she looked like until I opened those messages and saw the pictures.”

I rub her back until she pulls away, looking at me with wide, glossy eyes.

“What’s the next step?” I ask.