In one letter, Livia wrote that after giving birth, she wanted me so badly she dialed half my number. Then she remembered something cruel I had once said about another pregnant girl, and she hung up before the call went through.

John whispered, “Open the one for you.”

I didn’t want to.

Which meant I had to.

In the letter, Livia asked me not to punish Liam. She said she had a daughter named Rose, named after my mother, because she wanted one piece of home that did not hurt.

Then she wrote the line that broke me:

I need to know if you can love me without owning me.

If yes, ask Liam where I am.

If no, please let me stay gone.

PART 3

I grabbed my phone to call Liam.

John stopped me.

“Don’t call him like you’re about to put him on trial.”

The words hurt because they sounded exactly like Livia.

So I waited until I could breathe.

Then I called.

Liam answered on the second ring.

“Mom?”

I looked at the torn beanbag, the prom dress, the letters, and the photo of the granddaughter I had never held.

“Come home,” I said.

The line went silent.

“You know what I found,” I whispered.

He arrived just after dark.

His backpack slid from his shoulder when he saw the letters on the table.

“You knew she was alive?” I asked.

His eyes filled. “Yes.”

I pressed the letters against his chest.

“You let me mourn her every day.”

His face changed.

“No, Mom. You kept digging the grave because it was easier than asking why she left.”

“I am your mother.”

“And she is my twin.”

“You hid my grandchild from me.”

“Rose isn’t a prize you lost,” Liam said. “She is a baby Livia was afraid to bring near you.”

The room seemed to tilt beneath me.

“I loved her. I gave her everything.”

“Everything except room to disappoint you.”

John stood in the doorway, silent.

I turned to him. “Tell him I only wanted to protect her.”

John looked down at the letters.

“Camila,” he said quietly, “sometimes you don’t give people room to be themselves.”

Liam wiped his face with his sleeve.

“You both made this house feel like a courtroom,” he said. “Mom judged. Dad settled. And Livia and I waited for the sentence.”

For a long time, no one spoke.

Finally, I picked up Livia’s letter.

“Where is she?”

Liam shook his head.

“No. Not if you’re going there to drag her home.”

“I need to see my daughter.”

“Then don’t arrive like the reason she left.”

I hated him for saying it.

And I loved him for saying it.

I sat there among the letters and asked the first honest question I had asked in almost a year.

“Tell me how not to scare her.”

Liam’s voice softened.

“Start by not making the first sentence about you.”

The next morning, he gave me the address.