I smiled at the lacy calf-length white dress with the puffy short sleeves that my mom had donned for this one. She wore the same ruffled socks and shiny dress shoes as in the last photo but had a small white floral crown perched atop her head. The locket that was now resting at the base of my throat was dangling down the front of Teresa’s dress. Again, my mother was positioned close up against Frank’s body, his hand placed on her shoulder. She had a proud smile on her face that mirrored Frank’s. Gloria didn’t match her daughter for this occasion but instead wore another floral dress with delicate lace trimmings. The three of them looked so happy. It was hard to believe things had turned out the way they did. Feeling a kinship, I touched a hand to my lips, remembering a similar photo of me at my own communion, that same smile lighting up my face while my mom and dad stood proudly on either side of me. In that moment, my anger toward my parents softened, the love and support they’d given me my whole life melting some of the resentment I’d been feeling.

‘These photos are so great,’ I said, giving them a grateful smile as I flipped through more pages. There were even a few old photos of Cris and Frank when they were kids, a much-appreciated glimpse into the life of the quiet man in front of me. I gave a laugh when I stopped on one of my mother with Cris and Rosie. Rosie smiled when she saw which photo I was looking at.

‘She loved coming over here when we had foster animals running around the house.’

The laugh that little Teresa was giving off in the photo was infectious. She was crouched down in one of her summer dresses, her arms outstretched as a big fluffy brown dog enthusiastically licked her face. Rosie and Cris stood behind them, bent over and laughing. It was an affectionate photo, making me feel closer to my biological mother than I had since this journey started a few weeks back. Little by little, with each page, along with Rosie and Cris’s stories, I was learning the history of their lives and was starting to feel like I was a part of it too. These were the kinds of gaps I’d been hoping to fill.

I flipped the page again and asked, ‘Did she have any pets of her own growing up?’