"...he was born in London, Ontario..." Jenny's words must have pounded across her keyboard, perhaps in pain as she hammered on the keyboard.

How many tears did she shed as words ripped from her heart? Did she spend restless nights thinking about her son not knowing who his father was? Their son, the little boy he never even had a chance to hold, or watch grow up. If only he had known. Would it have changed anything? Didn't she even care that just maybe they could have been a family? Maybe they could have worked something out.

Is this her form of retribution? Did she tell him now out of bitterness or anger? Joe searched for understanding in the typewritten letter. He sought refuge from the stark words—

"...I never got married and eventually couldn't discipline him anymore. He became more than a handful. I had to give him up to the Children's Aid. It was my decision. Mine alone, even though my parents thought it best. You can find him if you want, I don't really care. And yet I do. Maybe he could hook up with your family...if you could ever find him. I just don't care about him anymore. Sorry about this."

…Jenny

Now what did she mean? Joe wondered. "...If he could find him."

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