Underneath the headline was a photograph of them together.
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Young.
Smiling.
Alive.
Before I could say anything, Sophie whispered:
“I wanted my first family too.”
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Every bit of anger I had disappeared.
I looked at her.
Her eyes were fixed on the floor.
Mrs. Parker picked up the classroom phone.
“I asked Mr. Harris to come down. I think the principal should decide whether this belongs in the project.”
A minute later, Mr. Harris walked into the room.
He took the clipping from Mrs. Parker.
At first, he barely looked at it.
Then he stopped.
His eyes went back to the photograph.
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He moved closer to the window and read the article from beginning to end.
“Where did Sophie get this?”
“From my house.”
He looked around the room.
“Everyone stay seated.”
Mrs. Parker frowned.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
His attention had shifted to something near the bottom edge of the clipping.
I had never paid attention to it before.
When the article had been cut from the newspaper years earlier, part of another photograph had been left attached beside it.
Most of it was gone.
Only half of a man’s face remained.
Part of an eye.
A cheek.
Gray hair.
Mr. Harris stared at it.
Then looked at Sophie.
“That’s my father.”
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Nobody spoke.
Mrs. Parker gave a small confused laugh.
“What?”
Mr. Harris pointed to the partial photograph.
“His name was Richard.”
I looked at the tiny image.
“Are you sure?”
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“I’m sure.”
His voice had changed.
He unfolded the clipping completely and ran his finger beneath the photograph of Sophie’s biological parents.
Then he read the names printed below.
He stopped at one.
“Isabella.”
Sophie looked up.
