me he found something strange,” Diane said. “A paper with your name on it, Margaret. And another name. A baby boy.”
My knees weakened.
“A baby boy,” I repeated.
My mother nodded without looking at me.
“I had a son,” she whispered.
The words landed on the table like a key.
A son.
A hidden child.
A life erased before it could be spoken of.
My father gripped the edge of the table. “What does that have to do with Noah?”
Diane looked at him sadly.
“Because the boy Margaret gave up was placed with my husband’s aunt and uncle,” she said. “The Whitaker family. They raised him for six months before another relative stepped forward to take him permanently.”
Paul’s brow furrowed.
“Wait,” he said. “My aunt Eleanor? The one who moved to Indiana?”
Diane nodded.
“She took the baby?”
“For a little while,” Diane said. “Then there was
