Chapter 1

I was the abandoned one.

When I was two years old, my grandmother left me at a train station.

I was clutching a piece of paper in my small fist, and the note said: [Nobody wants this child. Whoever finds her can keep her.]

I didn't remember that day, but I remember my adoptive mother's face when she told me the story.

She cried as she spoke.

She looked at me and said, "Emily, you're the treasure I found. But your birth family, they—"

She trailed off and couldn't finish.

Twenty-three years later, my birth family showed up at my door.

They told me they wanted to take me home.

*****

I was Emily Johnson, twenty-five years old.

I worked in operations at an internet company and made four thousand dollars a month. It wasn't much, but in our mid-sized city, it was enough.

I owned a small apartment, about 500 square feet, with one bedroom and a living room. The mortgage was eight hundred a month.

And I had wonderful adoptive parents.

Their names were Robert Johnson and Susan Johnson, and they taught at the county high school. Robert taught math, and Susan taught literature.

They never had children of their own, but when they were forty, they found me at the train station.

"You were sitting on a bench in the waiting area," Susan told me once, smiling at the memory. "Your face was covered in dirt and you were clutching a piece of paper in your hand. You wouldn't let anyone take it from you."

Susan always smiled when she told this story, but I knew the smile didn't reach her heart.

"The moment I got close, you handed me the note," she continued. "It was like you knew I was the one who came for you."

Susan kept that note for twenty-three years. The paper had yellowed, and the writing had faded, but the words were still clear.

[No one wants this child. Whoever finds her can raise her.]

Below that was an address: [Riverdale, Willow Village.]

I once asked Susan, "Did you ever go there?"

"I did," she said.

"And then what happened?" I pressed.

Susan stayed quiet for a long time.

"And then I never went back," she finally said.

She never told me what she found there, and I never asked.

It didn't matter what was waiting in that village because my home was here.

My parents were Robert and Susan Johnson. That was all I needed.

I thought I'd never have anything to do with "that place" for the rest of my life.

Until last month, I was working late at the office when my phone rang. The caller ID showed an unknown number.

I answered.

A woman asked, "Hello, is this Emily Lane?" Her voice had a slight regional accent, and she sounded nervous.

I said, "Yes. Who's this?"

She said, "I'm your aunt."

I froze.

I asked, "What?"

She said, "Emily, I'm your aunt. Your father's sister, Madeline Carter. We've been looking for you for years and we finally found you!"

I didn't say anything.

Madeline asked, "Emily? Are you still there? Emily?"

I said, "Yeah."

She continued, "Your grandmother wants to see you. Your parents want to see you too. The whole family wants to see you. Can you come back for a visit?"

On the other end of the line, her voice began to tremble. She added, "Emily, your grandmother is eighty-two now. She's not doing well. She said she wants to see you before she passes."

I held the phone and stood by the office window, watching the traffic below.

Madeline asked again, "Did she do something wrong? Are you blaming her?"

I gave a short laugh.

I said, "Ma'am, who left me at the train station when I was two?"

The line went silent.

I kept my voice steady. "You said you looked for me for years, but my foster mother went to Willow Village twenty-three years ago and she found you."

I asked, "What did you guys tell her? You told her there was no child."

Sobbing came through the phone.

Madeline choked out, "I'm sorry, Emily. I'm so sorry. We were wrong back then."

I cut her off. "Don't cry yet. I need to ask you something."

"Okay, okay," Madeline said quickly.

"Do my parents have a son?"

The sobbing stopped.

"Yes," Madeline said quietly.

"He's younger than me, right?" I pressed.

Madeline said, "Yes. He's your brother. Two years younger than you."

Two years younger.

When he was born, I was two years old.

I was two when they abandoned me at the train station.

I laughed.

"I get it now," I said. "I don't have anything else to say and you don't need to look for me anymore."

"Emily—"

"Goodbye." I hung up and then called Susan. "Mom, what really happened when you went to Willow Village twenty-three years ago?"

On the other end of the line, Susan stayed silent for a long time.

"Emily, do you really want to know?" she finally asked.

"I want to know," I said.

"Alright." Susan's voice was quiet. "Then I'll tell you.

"Twenty-three years ago, I found that address. Willow Village, a small town up in the mountains. I found your grandmother's house."

"Was she home?" I asked.

"She was."

"What did she say?"

Susan's voice trembled a little.

"She said she didn't know you," Susan told me. "She said her family never lost a child. She told me not to come back and that there was no point anyway."

I gripped the phone tighter. "And then what?"

"Then I saw a little boy run out of the house," Susan continued. "Your grandmother scooped him up and held him close, like I was going to snatch him away from her.

"She told me that her family only had one grandson and he was precious. She said I needed to leave before I scared the child."

Susan's voice dropped lower. "Emily, that's when I understood."

"Understood what?" I asked.

"Why you were abandoned."

I closed my eyes.

I understood everything now.

A brother had been born.

The family couldn't afford two children.

Or rather, they didn't want to keep two children.

More accurately, they didn't want to keep a daughter anymore.

Once they had a son, the daughter became disposable.

Disposable, so they threw her away.

Left her at a train station for someone else to find, so they could sleep easily at night.

[No one wants this child. Whoever finds her can raise her.]

So that was what it meant. Not "No one wants her." It was "We don't want her."

I took a deep breath and steadied myself.

"Mom, I get it now," I said quietly.

Susan said, "Emily, don't let this hurt you. Your father and I will always be your family. Those people don't matter."

"I know, Mom."

"So are you still going?" she asked.

"Going where?"

"To Willow Village."

I went quiet for a moment. "I don't know."

"Emily, I won't stop you," my mother said gently. "If you want to go, go. If you don't, then don't. Whatever you choose, your dad and I are behind you."

"Okay."

I hung up and sat in my office, staring at nothing for a long time. I didn't know what I was thinking about. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

Three days later, I requested vacation time. I'd made my decision and booked a ticket to Willow Village.

I wasn't going to reunite with them, and I wasn't going to forgive them. I just wanted to see for myself what kind of person could throw away their own child.