Chapter 7 - The Mother Ryan Thought Had Abandoned Him
Susan Hale had died five years earlier.
Ryan had not attended the funeral.
He had not known about it until months later.
That fact now haunted him.
His maternal aunt, Karen, still lived outside Lexington.
Ryan had not spoken to her since college.
He called.
She answered after seven rings.
“Ryan?”
His face broke immediately.
“Yes.”
Karen began crying.
So did he.
They spoke for almost an hour.
Then Ryan asked:
“Was Mom dangerous when I was a baby?”
Silence.
“Who told you that?”
“Dad.”
Another silence.
“And Linda.”
Karen’s voice changed.
“Linda.”
The name contained thirty years of anger.
Two days later Karen drove to Columbus carrying a banker’s box.
Inside:
Susan’s letters.
Old photographs.
Court records.
Medical records.
And one photograph of a woman standing beside infant Ryan’s crib.
Linda.
Thirty-three years younger.
Same eyes.
Same controlled smile.
“What was she doing there?” Ryan asked.
Karen answered:
“She worked for your father.”
David owned a small insurance brokerage then.
Linda was his office manager.
Married herself.
Close to both David and Susan.
“She told Susan she was her best friend.”
My stomach tightened.
That sentence sounded familiar.
Linda had told me for years:
“You're the daughter I never had.”
Karen opened the old custody file.
Affidavit after affidavit described Susan as:
Exhausted.
Confused.
Emotionally unstable.
Sleeping during the day.
Forgetful.
Overwhelmed by infant care.
The language was almost identical to the story Linda had begun building about me.
Then Karen turned to one incident.
Ryan was five months old.
David claimed he came home to find Susan crying upstairs while baby Ryan was alone in a partially filled bathtub.
Linda had “discovered the child.”
Emergency custody followed.
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Susan denied everything.
Nobody believed her.
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