The realization made me feel sick.
Goldi had decided I could not handle losing her.
I had decided Leo could not handle knowing her.
The same kind of silence had passed from one parent to another.
“Come with me,” I said.
I led him to the garage.
At the back of a cabinet was a sealed plastic box I had not opened since we moved out of our old apartment.
I had found it too painful to look at what was inside it.
Inside were Goldi’s photographs, university notebooks, a green scarf she wore every winter, and a silver bracelet I had given her on our first anniversary.
Leo sat beside me on the floor.
I showed him a picture of Goldi laughing at the beach.
“She hated sand,” I said. “She complained all day, then refused to leave because the sunset was beautiful.”
He smiled.
I showed him our wedding photograph.
“Was she funny?”
“Very.”
“Did she sing?”
“Terribly.”
“Do I look like her?”
For years, I had avoided looking for Goldi in him.
Now I saw her everywhere.
The curve of his smile.
The dimple in his left cheek.
The way one eyebrow rose when he was confused.
“Yes,” I said. “You do.”
At the bottom of the box was an old address book I had stored away.
I had told myself I would one day need it if I ever needed to find out where Goldi went.
I had just never brought myself to do it.
The hate and pain held me back as I wondered what good would come from finding a mother who had abandoned her son.
Now that I knew why she left, I had to find out what happened to her.
Goldi’s mother’s name and contacts were inside the address book.
Goldi and Rachel had been estranged for years.
I had met Rachel only twice, and Goldi rarely spoke about her.
I decided that now was the time to reach out.
I hesitated for nearly an hour before calling.
A woman answered.
“Is this Rachel?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name is Arthur.”
There was a long silence.
Then she whispered, “Goldi’s Arthur?”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
Rachel began crying before I asked what had happened.
She then told me that Goldi had died seven months after leaving us.
She had contacted Rachel because she had nowhere else to go.
The cancer had been discovered after doctors spotted an abnormality in her bloodwork late in her pregnancy.
Further scans showed that it had already spread.
All that doctors could give her after she left us was hospice care.
Rachel also cared for her until the end.
“Why didn’t you try to find me?” I asked.
“She made me promise. She made me swear on my grandson’s name.”
“You should have let me choose for myself. All of you should have let me choose.”
“I know,” Rachel whispered. “I have regretted it every day. I have thought of you and my grandson every day.”
Leo spoke to her that afternoon.
Their first conversation lasted almost an hour.
He asked about Goldi’s childhood, her favorite food, and whether she spoke of him.
“Every day,” Rachel said. “Even to her last breath, you are all she spoke of.”
A few months later, the four of us visited Goldi’s grave.
