The winding road leading up to the home of Aunt Beatrice in the quiet suburbs of Maplewood felt much longer than I remembered as I drove through the fog with a bouquet of white lilies resting beside me. My twin brother Simon had laughed at my sense of obligation when I called him earlier to explain I was visiting the woman who raised us. For two decades we carried the heavy belief that our biological mother abandoned us at a bus station when we were three years old. Uncle Kenneth tried to soften that cruel blow by filling our childhood with colorful toys and gentle reassurance before his sudden passing when we were ten. Beatrice was a cold presence who constantly reminded us of her generosity and expected endless gratitude for saving us from an orphanage. After Kenneth passed away Beatrice refused to even attend our high school graduation. Simon and I moved out immediately to build our own careers in Minneapolis and Columbus. Despite all those years of emotional distance I still found myself pulling into her driveway hoping age had softened her heart.