“Okay.”
Rose’s back was facing me, so all I could see was Evangeline as she shut her eyes so tightly to fend off the tears. When she released Rose, she turned around ever so quickly to wipe her eyes before anyone could see.
“Take care,” Genia said as she took Rose by the hand, leading her to the parking lot.
Evangeline and I stood frozen, watching every last movement they made until Rose disappeared from sight into the car.
Knowing that they would be driving by our spot again in order to exit the lot, I stayed in place. When the green Subaru passed, Rose waved at us one final time from the backseat. I smiled at her, but then a second later when she was gone, the tears finally came. Evangeline buried her face in my chest, and we both let out everything we’d been holding in.
When I released her, I wiped the tears from her eyes and said, “She’ll come back to us someday. I know it. They’ll tell her.”
Sniffling, she cried out, “What if she hates us?”
“Then, we’ll explain everything the best we can.”
It was too easy to let my sadness fester into anger. I couldn’t live like that anymore. In a sense, losing Rose was the ultimate test of my love for Evangeline. Unconditional love isn’t possible without forgiveness. If we were ever going to truly move on, there was something I needed to say to her even if I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure I truly meant it yet. It had to be said.
I pulled her back into me and whispered into her ear, “I forgive you.”
She sighed into my shoulder. “How could you?”
“Because that’s how much I love you.”
“Today really made me realize everything we lost.”
“We did lose something. But she also gained a family that loves her…three sisters. She’s happy. That counts.”
She released herself from my arms. “She’s happy, but what about us?”
“We’ll get there.” Seeing the look of doubt on her face as she looked down at the ground, I placed my hand on her chin, prompting her to make eye contact. “Hey. You’re enough for me.”
That assurance became more important than I could have ever known.
In the years that followed, we’d tried everything, but Evangeline was never able to get pregnant again. It was a sad irony, considering her one pregnancy with Rose had such a profound impact on the course of our lives.
A year after Rose moved away, Evangeline and I got married in the same way that our relationship started: alone on a grassy knoll, the only witness being a cool Kansas breeze. Evangeline carried two roses, one for our daughter and one for my mother, along with blue hydrangeas, which were Elle’s favorite flowers. A reception followed in the form of a Texas-style barbecue in Addy’s backyard. The few guests included Emily and a guy named Zachary, who was courting her. Also in attendance were Luke and his new boyfriend, Alexander.
We stayed childless, living a life that I would imagine some people with kids occasionally fantasized about: eating out a lot, going on vacations, having total freedom to do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted. It was Evangeline and me against the world. We would have given anything to share our lives with a child; it just wasn’t in the cards. That was the thorn in our side to an otherwise beautiful life. In many ways, life was like a rose—beautiful but not without the sometimes painful thorny path leading up to the gorgeous red flower. If the red flower represented the best of life, then our flower bloomed on an ordinary Monday afternoon ten years after our playground date with Rose.
Evangeline had gone out to check the mail and came inside the house with an envelope that was shaking in her hands. When I took one look at the name on the return address label, it all made sense.
Rose Simonsen.
CHAPTER 27
ROSE
Dear Rose,
If you’re reading this, your parents have obviously told you the truth.
I’m finding it hard to sum up in one letter all that I want to say to you. I guess I should start by saying hello. My name is Sevin Montgomery, and I’m your father. Jesus, I sort of feel like Darth Vader right now. (I just realized, you probably don’t know who that is!)
We’ve actually met a couple of times. I don’t know if you can remember. You were about five, going on six. The first time, you had lost a ball at your T-ball game, and I helped you find it. The second time we met, your mother, Genia, brought you to the playground right before you moved from Kansas to Oregon. Your birth mother, Evangeline, was also with me that day. Genia brought you to the park so that we could see you before you moved. You didn’t know who we really were. Do you recall the monkey bars? Think back. Try to remember. That was me.