Over the phone, I asked Graham whether he remembered her.
“No. There were so many people involved.”
“She handled my intake.”
“That doesn’t mean she knew where you went afterward. Those agencies failed both of us, Nina.”
I didn’t argue. I was embarrassed by how much relief I’d felt when he said both of us. It made the years sound like something we had endured together.
The authorized copy arrived several weeks later. I spread the pages across my kitchen table, keeping them in order. My name appeared beside the age six. Further down, a dated contact entry recorded successful contact with Graham at his company office after Celia’s death.
I read it once, then checked the date again.
Successful contact wasn’t a forwarded letter. It wasn’t someone trying a number that no longer worked.
I called him and read the entry aloud.
“That must concern another man with my name,” he said.
“At your company office?”
“Records get mixed up. You shouldn’t draw conclusions from one line.”
I almost apologized. That frightened me more than the entry did.
Instead, I asked the agency whether a question could be passed to Ruth, who was now retired. With my permission, they forwarded my contact details. She called and agreed to sit with me and explain the file.
Afterward, I wrote to Graham: I’m not consenting to an announcement or a photograph. I’ll contact you after I’ve reviewed my records.
I put the phone facedown and gathered the pages into their folder. For once, I hadn’t softened a refusal to keep an adult comfortable. The meeting with Ruth was arranged. The television appearance wasn’t.
Ruth sat beside me at my kitchen table, not across from me. She asked permission before turning each page.
On the signed response, Graham had identified both my mother and me by our full names. Beneath them was his answer: I decline consideration for placement.
I held the corner down with my thumb.
“Could he have thought somebody else was taking me?”
Ruth pointed to her dated note. Placement contact details provided. Father declined assessment.
“He was given a way to reach the people caring for you,” she said. “He refused the assessment. This wasn’t a case of us being unable to find him.”
I wanted her to qualify it. To say he’d called later, that a page might be missing. She stayed quiet while I read the note again.
The inventory was next. Mother’s silver necklace retained by child. I touched the pendant through my shirt.
“So nobody took it out of storage and gave it back?”
“No. It stayed with you.”
Graham had recognized a gift he’d commissioned for Celia. That part was real. So was the laboratory result. Neither meant he’d tried to bring me home.
I thanked Ruth, then cried while washing the two cups. I’d spent years wondering what had been wrong with me. He’d declined even the assessment that would have made him look at my life.
At our next private meeting, I put copies between Graham and me. He glanced at the signature and pushed the page back.
