“No,” she whispered, and it sounded like a heartbreak. “You were trying to keep me.”
The folder slipped a little in my hands. I caught it against my chest like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
“Who told you this?” I asked, voice shaking. “Who put these thoughts in your head?”
Miranda’s expression crumpled. “No one put them there. I found them. By accident.”
I stared at her.
She looked away. “Last month… I was looking for my birth certificate for college paperwork. I found the adoption file. And then… I found a letter. A court letter. One you never showed me.”
My stomach fell through the floor.
I remembered that letter. I remembered the envelope, the official seal, the way my hands had gone cold reading it. I remembered the fear.
Because fear is what orphanages teach you first: nothing is permanent. Anyone can be taken. Anyone can leave. Love is temporary if someone decides it is.
Miranda’s voice went small again. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I tried to speak. Nothing came out.
Grant said softly, “She reached out to me after she found it.”
My head snapped toward him. “You’ve been talking to her behind my back?”
Miranda stepped between us like a shield. “Stop. You don’t get to act betrayed. I’m the one who was lied to.”
That one word—lied—felt like it burned a hole in my chest.
I stood up too fast. The room swayed. “I didn’t lie to you.”
“You didn’t tell me the truth,” she said, tears spilling now. “For years you let me believe I had no one else. That it was just you and me. That I should be grateful because you ‘chose’ me.”
I flinched. “Miranda… sweetheart, I chose you because I loved you.”
