Page 154 of Unbreakable Thread

“Have you opened it?” she asks.

“My therapist advised me to open it when I’m ready. I’ve had so much going on to even think about it. You would think I’d be eager to read it, but the truth is I dread it. I don’t want a setback.”

Mrs. Debbie digs into her purse. Then ties her hair into a bun. She peers at me with her warm irises. “I agree with your therapist on this one. Your adoptive mother should have handed this to you when she was on her deathbed. It’s odd she didn’t. The only person you can trust is your husband. Have him read it, and if it’s complete bullshit, toss it. No need to dwell on questions you’ll never get answers for. You have a family—one that needs you now. Don’t let them take more than what they’ve done.”

She’s right. I’ve made progress, and I didn’t expect to recover from it all overnight. I’m at a good place in my personal life. I’m married, and two beautiful kids will be here soon.

“I heard you and Mrs. Debbie talking about the letter Jenna left you,” he says as we drive back home.

“So much has happened that I put it aside. After Leo’s passing, I didn’t have the energy for it.”

He nods. “I can look it over or just toss it.”

I had asked Justin if he knew anything about it. He didn’t. “Read it,” I tell him. “Then burn it. If there’s something in there I need to know, tell me. Otherwise, don’t.”

Chapter 46

Max

Later that evening, I pull out the letter from Sol’s desk drawer. She’d brought it up once, but then Carlos started his shit, and everything else got buried with it.

Honestly, I’m glad she didn’t open it alone. As I break the seal, I think about Jenna. Was she just as cunning as her husband? I read over the two-page letter, and I’m shocked, but more than anything, confused. I read it again.

My sweet Rainey,

Honey, you’re reading this letter because I’m gone. I asked my attorney to wait a year or two after my passing to hand you this. I know you’re grieving for me, and I wanted to give you time before this letter reaches you. I know it sounds selfish of me. But what I’m about to tell you is going to rock your world. You’re going to need to find Max. I know it sounds crazy, but you need him to fill the missing pieces for you. That’s if you haven’t already.

Your father and I were not always honest with you. We each had our own reasons for that. It has weighed on me. I was afraid that if I told you before I was gone, I would lose you. I can’t even bear to do it now while writing this on my deathbed.

Deep breath. Honey, you’re adopted. It’s true. Please keep reading. I know this was something we should have spoken about when you were younger, or in person at least.

We adopted you at the age of eleven. The reason you don’t remember is that you have amnesia.

Let me tell you how this came about.

A year or less before I adopted you— I can’t remember—I had met your mother. She had been working at a bakery my friend owned in downtown Vegas. My friend asked if I could go down to help her. I was there for two weeks.

Your mother worked long hours at the bakery. She looked tired and unwell. I asked her what was troubling her. She said she had lost her husband and had a medical condition. I didn’t ask what she had, and she never said. I comforted her and told her to go home, but she insisted on staying because she had a daughter to support. Days passed, and I got to know her. Lisa was a kind and beautiful woman. She showed me pictures of you. She was proud of you. Always talked about you. Her biggest fear was the what-ifs. What if something happened to her? Who was going to care for you?

The two weeks came to an end, and I left for home. I thought of that woman. I felt bad for her. When I returned, I had my own set of problems. Your father had been seeing another woman while I was gone. It didn’t surprise me. It was always like this. We fought about this for months. Your father was always worried about his public image. To keep me quiet and busy and so he could become a sought-after attorney, he came up with an idea to adopt, since I was told I couldn’t have more kids.

After two months of paperwork and searching for a child who would fit into our family, we came up empty-handed. Your father wanted a child with strong genes. Then I received a call from my friend, telling me your mother had passed. I asked her about you, and she simply said she didn’t know. I begged Rowan to adopt you when I found out you were in a foster home. He declined. He said you were too old and had too much baggage. Two months had passed, and a social worker told me there had been an accident and you had amnesia. I know this sounds horrible, but your father agreed to adopt you then. It would be a fresh start. I became selfish, Rainey. I wanted you to myself. I wanted to be the only mother in your life. Dammit, I loved you. I’m sorry we lied. I’m sorry I kept secrets from you. Your father didn’t want you to find out. He said it was better this way. His plan was for you to marry Andrew, since you didn’t come from money.

I’m gone now. I know you love Max. You were so heartbroken when Max left you. It was because of your father. Max was in the same foster home as you. Only he can answer your questions.

I love you, Rainey. I hope you can forgive me.

Mom

She knew Sol’s biological mother. She knew her father was dead. And she said nothing. I always knew they didn’t want her to regain her memory and to keep her in the dark, but this letter gives no answers—it just opens the hole wider. If I can’t make sense of it, Sol won’t either, or she’ll make too much sense of it in all the wrong ways. Cowards, both of them. When things got complicated, when the lies got too heavy, they just went with “Go find Max.” They kept me away until they didn’t want to deal with her.

Fuck them.

The lighter is cold and heavy in my hand. I hold the corner of the letter to the flame until it catches, watching the fire creep across the paper in a thin orange line, and then drop it into the fireplace.

Sol’s small footsteps are heard coming up the stairs. Her beautiful eyes graze over the letter already turned to ashes. “Oh,” she says softly. She knows what it means. Nothing she needs to know. I won’t confuse her more.

“Come here,” I say, beckoning her. Her steps are slow, but it’s worth watching her cute waddle. I bring her into my arms. “The letter was nothing of importance. I’m sorry if you were hoping for more.”