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“That was my first mommy.”
Mr. Harris gripped the desk.
“Your mother’s name was Isabella?”
“Yes.”
Something happened in his face.
Recognition, but not exactly.
It looked more like a piece of his past had suddenly stepped into the room.
He glanced around at the children watching us.
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Then looked at me.
“Could you and Sophie come to my office?”
Mrs. Parker started to speak.
“You too,” he added.
A few minutes later, Sophie was sitting beside me in the principal’s office, still holding my hand.
Mr. Harris closed the door.
Then he crouched in front of her.
“Was your mother’s maiden name Isabella H?”
Sophie squeezed my fingers.
“I don’t know.”
But I did.
I had seen the name years earlier on adoption documents.
“Yes,” I said.
Mr. Harris closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, they were wet.
“Isabella was my sister.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“My older sister.”
He pointed toward the clipping.
“That’s my sister.”
Mrs. Parker slowly sat down.
Mr. Harris didn’t seem to notice.
He was looking only at Sophie.
“She left home when I was sixteen. I knew she married. Years later, my father told me she had a little girl.”
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His voice cracked.
“A girl named Sophie.”
Sophie stared at him.
“Me?”
He nodded.
“You.”
She thought about that for a few seconds.
Then asked the most Sophie question imaginable.
“Then what are you?”
Something in Mr. Harris’s face collapsed.
“I’m your uncle.”
Sophie immediately looked at me.
Then back at him.
“My real uncle?”
“Your biological uncle,” I said carefully.
Mr. Harris looked at me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No.”
I squeezed Sophie’s hand.
“Uncle is fine.”
