“What decisions?”
“Direct contact had become restricted while Emma was adjusting to her placement.”
“Restricted by whom?”
Another silence.
“The adults involved.”
Letters were supposedly meant to go through the adults.
Contact was supposed to be reconsidered later.
“Supposed to be,” I repeated.
Denise sighed.
“It wasn’t handled well.”
“Did Luke send letters?”
“Yes.”
“Did Emma ever respond?”
“I don’t know.”
But Luke knew part of the answer.
That night, when I asked him, he disappeared into his bedroom.
He returned carrying an old shoebox.
Inside were copies of letters.
Dozens of them.
Every letter Luke had written to Emma over four years.
Birthdays.
Christmas.
Questions about school.
Friends.
Whether she was happy.
His handwriting changed as he grew older.
But every letter ended the same way.
I’m still your brother.
Again.
And again.
Year after year.
“She never replied,” Luke whispered. “Not once.”
He touched the box.
“I figured she hated me.”
“Then why did you keep writing?”
“In case.”
Something felt wrong.
A nine-year-old who had once gone looking for her brother every time she was afraid didn’t simply stop caring.
Somewhere between Luke writing those letters and Emma receiving them, something had gone wrong.
I intended to find out what.
—NEXT PAGE
Denise made calls.
Eventually, Emma’s adoptive parents agreed to speak.
Their names were Rachel and David.
They wanted to proceed carefully.
Denise suggested letting the adults work things out first.
I stared at her.
“The adults have been deciding what those two children can handle for four years.”
She went quiet.
“And what did that accomplish?”
A box of unanswered letters.
Ten failed placements.
Two children each believing the other had forgotten them.
“I’m not asking for anything reckless,” I said. “Make it supervised. Bring professionals. Put every safeguard you want in place.”
I leaned forward.
“But if Luke wants to see Emma and Emma wants to see Luke, then let those two children finally have some say.”
After a long silence, Denise nodded.
“I’ll make some calls.”
Eventually, everyone agreed.
—NEXT PAGE
