For Eight Years, I Thought I Was Only the Woman Who Cleaned Her House. On the Day She Left, Mrs. Whitaker Gave Me an Envelope That Changed Who I Thought I Was.

Evelyn continued.

“Your mother was there.”

I swallowed.

“So was mine.”

She pulled another document from the envelope.

An old newspaper clipping.

The headline read:

NURSES RESCUE INFANTS FROM ST.

ANNE’S FIRE

There was a grainy photograph.

My mother.

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Margaret.

Another nurse.

And three babies wrapped in blankets.

I stared at it.

the voice.

“My mother saved babies?”

“She saved one in particular.”

My pulse quickened.

Evelyn looked straight at me.

“You.”

Everything inside me stopped.

I laughed nervously.

“No.

I wasn’t born at St.

Anne’s.”

“Yes, you were.”

“My birth certificate says County Memorial.”

“That certificate was amended.”

My mouth went dry.

“What are you saying?”

Evelyn pushed another paper toward me.

It was a copy of a hospital record.

Infant female.

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Temporary name: Baby Jane.

Date of birth.

My birthday.

Mother listed as:

Unknown.

I looked at Evelyn.

“No.”

She nodded slowly.