Page 62 of Faultlines

Heidi stands in the doorway clutching something, and I have to school my face into something professional before I can speak.

“Do you have a few minutes?” she asks, and I notice her lower lip quivering. I gesture her inside. The door closes behind her with a soft click. She hands me a few folded pieces of paper, her fingers trembling.

“I found this in my mom’s belongings after she died. I haven’t thought about it much since that time, but I came across it recently when looking for something.”

It looks like a letter; the paper is old and brittle beneath my fingertips. A dusty scent rises as I unfold the pages. The handwriting is a shaky scrawl—it’s a confession I realize. ‘I wasn’t strong enough,’ one line reads, the ink slightly blurred. ‘I’m sorry for every promise that I broke.’ I keep reading, the words a raw testament to a life of addiction and regret.

Then, on the last page, I see it. A man’s first name, written with a final, determined effort.

Conall

I look up at Heidi’s pale, drawn face and understand everything. It’s her biological father. Someone she’s never met. Someone her mother had intended to tell her about one day, but never had the chance to.

“I used to ask about him, but she would get upset, so I stopped,” she says.

This isn’t just about his name or the real possibility of finding him; it’s about identity, belonging, and understanding where she comes from. For years, half her story has been missing. Now that she’s older, she has the pieces of the puzzle and the chance to fill in the blanks.

“What if he doesn’t want me?”

I wish I had comforting words. He could welcome her, reject her, be dead, or be wonderful; the uncertainty is devastating. I know I need to let her make the decision on her own to search for him or not.

“Whatever you find, and whatever you decide, it doesn’t change who you are,” I say, my voice steady despite the tremor in my heart.

“I’m not sure I can handle anything else right now, but if I change my mind, will you help me find him?”

“Of course,” I say. “I’ll do my best to help.”

After work, I drive Ellie and Heidi to the ranch. I’ve been dropping Heidi off in the evenings, but tonight Ellie wanted to go as well. This is also a good opportunity for me to check in with Lucy about her recent appointments.

The girls, armed with carrots and enough enthusiasm to fuel a small army, disappear toward the paddocks, their chatter drifting back on the wind. A few months ago, I wasn’t sure I’d see Heidi ever allow herself to enjoy anything again. Now she’s spending her free time cleaning horse stalls. Progress, I muse, comes in unexpected forms.

I find Lucy and Sloane on the wide, wooden porch of the main house. Lucy is curled into one of the rocking chairs, a glass of iced tea condensation-beaded in her hand, while Sloane, somehow, has taken over the entire porch despite occupying only a single seat.

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Sloane says with a glint in her eye as I climb the creaky steps.

I settle into an empty chair beside Lucy. The wood is smooth and worn beneath my fingers. “How are you feeling?”

With a wry smile playing on her lips, she says, “Put the social worker away.”

“I am not being a social worker right now,” I say, leaning back.

“You are.”

I smile. “I’m asking how my favorite sister is doing.”

She gives me a suspicious look. “I’m your only sister.”

Sloane interjects, “Don’t let her fool you, she cried today because her favorite yogurt has been discontinued.”

“That was a reasonable reaction.”

“It was not.”

I glance between them, unable to prevent a small laugh. “Should I be concerned?”

“Only if she starts stockpiling dairy products,” Sloane deadpans.

Lucy rolls her eyes. “I’m surrounded by terrible people.” Then a slow, tentative smile spreads across her face, “Don’t get excited.”