For a minute neither spoke.
Clara looked at her face.
Now that she knew, she saw resemblance everywhere.
The eyes.
Not color.
Shape.
A slight asymmetry in the eyebrows.
The way Margaret pressed her lips together before speaking.
Clara did that too.
“I read your letter.”
Margaret’s face crumpled.
“One?”
“Three.”
“I wrote more.”
“I know.”
“They came back.”
“I know.”
“I hired investigators.”
Clara looked up.
“How long?”
“Eleven years.”
“What happened after that?”
Margaret wiped her eyes.
“My father died.”
“He controlled the search.”
“At first.”
“I didn't know that.”
“After he died, I found financial records.”
“Payments to attorneys.”
“A private adoption agency.”
“But no name.”
“No child.”
“I kept looking.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I didn't.”
Clara frowned.
Margaret continued.
“I changed how.”
“I began funding mobility programs.”
“Hospital archives.”
“Adoption-record access.”
“Why?”
“Because if I couldn't find you directly, I thought maybe someday one of those systems would find what I couldn't.”
Clara looked toward the gala.
“The foundation.”
Margaret nodded.
“This event?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a donor.”
“Yes.”
“Because of me?”
“Partly.”
Clara swallowed.
Margaret continued.
“I told myself if you were alive and had the disability they described, maybe you needed things I could help other children receive.”
“Chairs.”
“Therapy.”
“Transportation.”
“Legal help.”
Clara felt anger again.
“You helped strangers instead of finding me.”
Margaret accepted it.
“Yes.”
“That sounds noble when you say it.”
“It wasn't noble.”
“Then what?”
“Survival.”
Margaret looked down at her hands.
“I had to do something with the fact that I could not reach you.”
Clara did not know whether she believed her.
She did not need to decide tonight.
“Did you bury a coffin?”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Was it empty?”
“I didn't know then.”
“Did you see me after I was born?”
“For four hours.”
Clara stared.
Margaret smiled through tears.
“You screamed every time the nurse tried to wrap your feet tightly.”
Clara laughed unexpectedly.
“Sounds right.”
“You hated being swaddled.”
“I still hate blankets tucked under my feet.”
Margaret covered her mouth.
A sound escaped.
Half laugh.
Half sob.
Clara's own eyes filled.
“What did you think when you saw my legs?”
There.