I looked at Sophie.
She had a dimple in her left cheek.
So did Mr. Harris.
Sophie touched hers.
“She knew you?”
Mr. Harris laughed through his tears.
“She knew me very well.”
Then Sophie asked the question that changed the entire room.
“Did she want me?”
My husband turned toward her.
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“Sophie.”
She was staring at the photograph.
“My first mommy. Did she want me?”
And suddenly I heard Richard’s voice from seven years earlier.
“Just don’t let her grow up thinking they didn’t love her.”
“Of course she did,” I said.
Sophie looked at me.
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“But how do you know?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Mr. Harris looked down at Isabella’s letter.
“There’s more.”
He crouched beside Sophie.
“Do you want me to read it?”
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She nodded.
His voice shook.
“Sophie is the best thing we’ve ever done. I didn’t know you could love somebody this much when you’ve only known them for four days.”
Sophie stayed perfectly still.
Mr. Harris continued.
“I keep looking at her and thinking I wish my little brother could meet her.”
He stopped.
He couldn’t read any farther.
He didn’t need to.
Sophie looked at the photograph.
Then climbed into my lap.
I wrapped both arms around her.
After a while, she whispered:
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Are you sad?”
“I am.”
“Because I wanted their picture?”
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That question broke me.
“No.”
She wouldn’t look at me.
“I didn’t tell you I took it because I thought maybe you’d think I wanted a different mommy.”
“Oh, Sophie.”
“I don’t.”
She said it quickly.
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“I don’t want a different one.”
I held her tighter.
