At 36, after my parents’ sudden deaths, I discovered I was adopted when I found a letter from my birth mother, Helena. The shock of learning this truth left me numb. My parents had never mentioned it, and I had so many questions that would remain unanswered.

In the letter, Helena explained that she was 18 and had no support, so she made the painful choice to give me up. Her love for me was evident, but I felt a mix of sadness and confusion about what to do next. I found her address in San Antonio, but was I ready to reach out?

Months later, I bought a ticket and drove to a café where Helena worked as a waitress/barista. When I first saw her, I recognized her immediately; we shared the same eyes and nose. I ordered more coffee than I needed just to stay close to her.

Over the next two weeks, I visited daily, learning about her life. She had married but was now alone after her husband left when they couldn’t have children. I felt a deep connection growing between us.

Eventually, I realized I didn’t want to go back to Hartford. I missed my parents, but being around Helena brought me comfort. I sold their house and moved to Texas.

As I returned to the café, my heart raced. I knew I had to tell her the truth about our connection, but I also wanted to explore what could grow between us.