On My 18th Birthday, My Parents Drove Me to the Ai…

And near the far wall, almost hidden beside a vending machine, stood an elderly woman holding a piece of white poster board. My name was written on it in thick black marker. ADELLA.

I stopped walking. The woman saw me stop. She was small, maybe seventy, with silver hair pinned loosely at the back of her head and a face lined in a way that made it seem more kind than old.

Her coat was navy wool, worn at the cuffs. Her hands held the sign firmly, but when our eyes met, something in her expression changed so suddenly that my chest tightened. Relief.

Not politeness. Not duty. Relief so deep it looked almost painful.

She lowered the sign. I walked toward her because there was nowhere else to go. Before I could speak, she said, “Your grandfather has been waiting eighteen years to tell you the truth.”

I did not know I had a grandfather.