For years I believed the nanny had walked out of my life

because the past 12 years suddenly made more sense.

“What about the money?”

“If you’re really my mother, why didn’t you contact me?” I asked sadly.

“I tried.”

“I sent letters, but you were already gone, and they came back.”

“Mine didn’t.”

I looked at her.

“What?”

“I sent letters.”

“I wrote to you for years and then only on every birthday. Your dad must have kept them.”

I stared.

“You sent them to Dad’s house?”

She nodded.

The place where I’d lived until college.

I felt sick.

“You sent them to Dad’s house?”

“After that, I stopped trusting the mail. But I kept writing. I have every letter since.”

“Why didn’t you come for me?”

“I tried, but your father or the nanny was always around, and I was barred from your school.”

Then I moved away for college and changed phone number twice.

I barely used social media.