“Actually, no.” My stomach bubbled with nerves. This was it. “I was talking to a woman in Italy who I met through one of those DNA testing sites.”

Our eyes locked, and I could see in her face she knew what I was about to say before I said it. “I took one of those tests in the spring, just for fun. But I found a half sister, from my birth father’s side.”

“Oh, Franny.” Her face was unreadable, and all I could think was that I’d disappointed her yet again. “I’m so happy for you.”

I leveled my eyes at her. “You are?” This was not what I’d expected her to say.

“I always wanted you to have siblings,” she said, a hesitant smile breaking out on her face. “And to know more about that side of your family. I’ve always felt guilty that I’ve never been able to tell you much about your birth father. I barely had any info to go on. We didn’t do a ton of talking.”

She said this with a laugh, and in that moment I could imagine her, young and passionate, swept away by a handsome man with thick black hair.

“You never told me anything about him,” I said. “I’ve always been too nervous to ask.”

“It’s hard to talk about,” she said as she leaned forward and reached for my hand, giving it a squeeze. “You know, it was a different time. There’s a lot of shame there for me, I think. And worry. I worry a lot about how I haven’t done everything right for you.”

This was the most we’d ever talked about my birth father, their relationship, and her feelings about all of it. It was new territory for us, and it felt raw and scary. But it also felt exactly right.

“He’s not alive anymore,” I said quietly. Delivering this news to her was unexpectedly crushing. Saying it out loud didn’t just makes his death real; it made him real too.

“Oh, Franny,” she said, her voice breaking. She slid her legs off the couch and scooted over to sit next to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

“I am too,” I said, choked up. I’d never get the chance to know him, this person who was a part of me. It was a loss I was still processing.

“Thank you for not being mad,” I said, leaning on her, feeling her warmth.

“Franny, how could I be mad at you?” She smiled at me, a look of pure love. My body loosened up the tiniest bit.

“Am I scared of you finding out something that might hurt you, or leave you feeling disappointed? Of course. I’m your mom.” She said this with a shrug, like it was the obvious answer to everything. “I’ve always worried about that. But, no, I’m not mad.”