They found me because someone finally noticed a contradiction.
Suzanne decided to establish a horticulture scholarship in my memory.
She contacted my former high school.
The application reached Mr. Witcom, my old horticulture teacher.
He recognized my name immediately.
He’d written me a recommendation for the Washington orchard three years earlier.
He contacted my father.
Shortly afterward, my mother called the orchard office.
I recognized her voice instantly.
“Anastasia.”
No greeting.
No question about whether I was happy or healthy.
“I need you to call Suzanne.”
I said nothing.
“She’s trying to establish some ridiculous scholarship. There’s been a misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?”
Mom explained her proposed version.
According to her, I’d left home years earlier. The family hadn’t known whether I was alive. Suzanne had misunderstood their grief.
All I needed to do was confirm it.
Then, Mom promised, I could come home for Christmas.
