She skimmed through the albums. Photo after photo was of her, taken on her birthdays—one, two, three—and days in between: the first-day-of-school pictures, her prom, graduation. And more. Many that were already in Annie’s blue album, but also many more that she’d never seen. Tucked between the pages were programs from school plays Annie had acted in, newspaper clippings from when she’d received Girl Scout merit badges, the announcement of when she’d been accepted into college.

It made no sense to her, no sense at all. And then, in the bottom of the trunk, were six boxes. She recognized the packaging: each held a different American Girl doll. Instinctively, she knew that they’d been hers; she remembered that they’d disappeared when she’d gone off to college. She picked one up; it held the doll that wore the red plaid dress Ellen had made that matched Annie’s skirt and the swatch that was now in the quilt.

That’s when Annie saw another note. It was attached to the bottom of the trunk. It was not in Donna’s handwriting, but her dad’s.

Annie, my wonderful Annie,

By the time you read this, both your birth mother and I will be gone. Please know that we thought it was best never to tell you while one of us was still alive; we did that for you, and for Ellen, the only mother that you knew.

Donna and I met one summer on Martha’s Vineyard. She was a waitress at the Blue Lagoon Restaurant, and we fell in love at first sight. One Vineyard morning, we had a picnic on South Beach—do you remember where that is? How we loved it there. It was quiet back then. And magical.

But I was much older than she was, and I was married to Ellen. We had our share of problems, mostly because we couldn’t conceive a baby, and she was very angry about that. When I met Donna, Ellen and I were separated.

Donna and I loved each other very much, but I felt awfully guilty. After that summer, we decided I should go back to Ellen and see how she was doing. She was my wife, after all. I felt I owed her that, and Donna agreed. But we said we’d stay in touch.

Three months later, after I’d reconciled with Ellen, I received a letter from Donna. She told me she was pregnant.