Riley had rehearsed the conversation upstairs. She would show them the recording, hand over the letter, and ask one question.
But standing beside the piano, looking at the two people who had raised her, she could barely unlock her tablet.
Her mother lowered her book. “What’s wrong?”
Riley played the recording.
Onscreen, a man stood behind a lectern at a university fundraiser. He spoke about the daughter he had lost contact with seventeen years earlier.
Then Riley handed her mother the letter.
“He’s offering me a scholarship,” she said. “He says he’s been trying to find me.”
Her father sat motionless on the sofa.
“Did you know?”
Before either parent answered, her mother’s phone lit up.
Riley saw the notification.
From Riley’s biological father: SHE CAN’T GO THERE.
She looked from the phone to the letter.
“He wants me to come. Now he says I can’t. What is happening?”
Her mother put the book aside.
“The scholarship didn’t come from him.”
“It has his signature.”
“Call the number you already have for him. Not the one in that letter.”
Riley hesitated, then dialed.
The man answered on the second ring.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he said her name with such care that Riley’s anger briefly lost its footing.
He explained that someone had been contacting families through his foundation, offering scholarships that didn’t exist. When her mother sent him a photograph of the letter, he recognized the false address.
Riley sat down.
The immediate danger was suddenly simple. The rest wasn’t.
After the call, she faced her parents again.
“How long have you had his number?”
Her mother’s eyes filled.
“Eight months.”
“Eight months?”
“We wanted to be certain he was ready,” her father said.
“Or that I was?”
Neither answered.
Riley left the letter on the table and went upstairs. This time, nobody followed.
The next morning, three mugs waited beside the kettle.
Her mother had placed a folder next to Riley’s mug. Inside were emails, dates, and an address.
“All of it,” she said. “You decide what happens next.”
Riley read every page.
A week later, she arranged to meet her biological father in a café near the university. Her parents drove her there and waited across the street.
At the café door, Riley turned back.
She raised one hand. Her father raised his.
Then she went inside. 🙂
End of Narrative
