Of course, Mary didn’t need to order the DNA test kit, not when David could just call his parents and find out Elizabeth James’s current address. And then, to finish stabbing me in the back, David gave our daughter her birth mother’s email address and contact information. I would never want anyone to find me, especially if I had given my own child away. Unfortunately, Elizabeth didn’t share that sentiment.

And so it began. My daughter Mary emailed Elizabeth. At first, it was very stilted, their correspondence, each testing the other’s purpose, the other’s willingness to connect and have a relationship. Even though she was busy with freshman year in college, and all the social positioning required to pledge a good sorority, she still obsessed about this forbidden woman. And their bond grew stronger online until, finally, they arranged to meet.

Mary was home for Christmas break. The next day we were flying to Telluride. It was December 22. I didn’t know it but that day, that email, would be the beginning of the end of our family. Elizabeth agreed to meet Mary after the Christmas holiday.

I think you probably know by now that I tried everything in my power to stop it. As soon as we returned from Telluride, before Mary could arrange to see Elizabeth James, I was stalking her. I drove to LA, sat in front of Elizabeth’s home. I went to the Saint Joseph’s Health Center in Santa Monica, where she had privileges. A lesser hospital, I’d note. I mean, I wished Mary’s genes had been at Cedars-Sinai, but oh well.

And then I started threatening her. I called her cell phone, told her not to make any contact with Mary Harris. That she had signed a confidentiality agreement. That my client—I pretended to be a private investigator—would throw the book at her, lock her up, send her up the river. She hung up on me eventually, but I thought I’d gotten my point across.

Elizabeth James became my fixation, much as she became my daughter’s. I did my best to try to stay one step ahead of her, and Mary. But it wasn’t enough. They met for the first time a week after Mary returned to college. And my heart broke each time they had lunch, or coffee, and, eventually, dinner. It was my worst nightmare transpiring, and yet I never imagined she would decide to stay with Elizabeth for the summer, that she’d pick Elizabeth over me so completely. So finally.

Mary and Elizabeth met for coffee early in the morning on the day Mary died, the morning after she and Brad went on their special date, the date she wore my red dress on. My daughter didn’t even try to hide the fact of her relationship with her birth mother. A relationship I forbade her to have.