Slowly, I came out of my trance and realized that Auntie Miriam was not hiding Mother from me. She had only ever been kind to me. “I’m sorry, Auntie …” I muttered.

“Don’t be sorry, Lily. It’s only natural to have all these feelings right now. You know, I’ve had many questions, too. I’ve tried to find Swee Hua, but I’ve had no luck. And you’re not the only person to come to me.”

“What do you mean? My Dad?”

“Yes. We have tried, Lily. Your Mother does not want to be found.”

The baby was not content to sleep in her bassinet, so I relented and put on my baby carrier. I wanted so much for her to sleep separate from me, unattached, untethered. I needed a few moments just to lounge on the couch and do something that felt normal. I took the long piece of soft cloth and wrapped it around my waist, slung it over my shoulders, and tied it tight. I picked up the baby and placed her inside, spreading the cloth over her body and head. She smelled like the nian gao and braided bread Mother used to bake, just out of the oven, and soon enough, she snuggled into my body and started to snore. I swayed my hips leaning against the kitchen counter as I read the decision. After a few minutes, I decided to move to the table, but the baby started fussing. It was hopeless. I had to keep moving, and I couldn’t read while doing that.

Pacing between the kitchen and the living room, I caught a glimpse of the first snowflakes of the season through the windows and contemplated going for a walk. But I talked myself out of it, reasoning it was too cold for the baby, even though I knew this was only the beginning of winter and there was more cold to come. My baby album on the coffee table caught my eye and I picked it up to put it away. As I lifted the lid of the box that was home to the album, I grew intrigued by what else was inside. It had been so long since I had rummaged through the box I had carted from dorm room to apartment and now to my house. With the baby wrapped against me sleeping soundly, I started to pull out the box’s contents. There was my high school diploma, photos from my high school graduation, and my yearbooks. There were certificates for Kiwanis competitions and a bundle of old letters from my childhood friend Caroline Anderson. There were my report cards and school photos from elementary and junior high placed neatly in a scrapbook. Then I pulled out an accordion folder I didn’t recognize. The last time I had opened the box I was frantically packing to move out of Father’s house to go to university.

The folder looked older than the rest of my things and had a few circular coffee mug stains imprinted on one side, overlapping one another, as if this folder had sat somewhere for some time being used inadvertently as a coaster. I unwound the thin string wrapped around a small cardboard circle to keep the folder shut and lifted the flap. Inside were papers of all sizes, so I went to the kitchen and spread them out on the island counter. There was a photograph and a letter-sized sheet of light red paper that looked like it had been folded several times. Had Mother intended to bring these with her? I picked up the photograph first. It was Mother. She was young and standing next to Po Po. They were both smiling, and it looked like they were in an airport. I looked at the back of the photo and saw Mother’s name etched in Chinese characters. I had never seen this photo before. It looked like it had been taken from a frame, since the edges of the picture were not faded. Who framed it? Where? I didn’t remember seeing it in my house or Auntie Choo Neo’s.