I got the address from her. I sat in my car in the Dollar General parking lot for a while. I want to say I was thinking something meaningful but I was mostly just staring at the address on my phone.

I actually drove home first. Made coffee. Washed the two mugs in my sink. I think I needed to do something small and normal before I could do the other thing.

I drove to Fulton Street the next morning.

The apartment building was small. Three floors, tan siding, a screen door on the main entrance that didn’t close all the way. I could see inside from the sidewalk. I don’t know what I was expecting, honestly. I think part of me had held onto some version of Janelle that was still seventeen with a backpack, and the woman I could see at the head of that folding table was not that. She looked solid. Settled. There were twelve kids in there, maybe more. Folding table with mismatched chairs pushed up against it, plates of spaghetti, a couple of the kids standing up eating instead of sitting. Janelle was leaning over a little boy who was maybe five or six, and she had a book open in front of him, and she was pointing at a word. He was sounding it out. I could not hear him but I could see his mouth moving.

I stood on that sidewalk for a while. I’m not sure how long. Long enough that I started to notice details I didn’t need to notice, like the crack in the sidewalk near my left foot, like the fact that I had worn the wrong shoes for standing that long. A girl at the table, maybe eight years old, tugged on Janelle’s sleeve and pointed toward the door.

Toward me. I took a step back but it was too late, they had seen me. The girl said something. I could not hear it but I could see her mouth and I am pretty sure she said, is that your mama.