In every timeline. His comment from the courting ritual hit me, and I squeezed his hand a little harder as we ascended the half dozen stone steps that would bring us to the door.

He lifted my hand and kissed the back.

My breath caught, my heartbeats slowed, and the world around me paused as I crossed the last foot to the door. I lifted my hand to knock on the door but lowered it, looking at Landon. “Do I look okay?”

He smiled and tucked a strand of my purple highlights behind my ear. “You look perfect. You are perfect. And no matter what happens here, I know exactly where you belong—with me.”

I sucked in a full breath of air, turned to the door, and knocked three times.

My heart raced, slamming against my ribs as the door opened a few seconds later.

An older woman with graying hair answered. She was a little shorter than I was, but not by much, but that didn’t affect the authoritarian way she held herself. She looked at us expectantly.

“Um. Hi. Do you speak English?” I asked.

She scoffed. “Do you speak Korean?”

My mouth snapped shut. “If I spoke Korean, I would have,” I said softly.

“You look Korean.”

“I’m American.” The moment it left my mouth, I realized the significance—the difference. Though I might physically resemble this woman and those girls, my culture, my language, my habits were from a world away.

Her sigh was loud and exasperated. “Then it is a good thing I speak English.”

I nodded, and Landon wrapped his arm around my waist. It was only then that I realized I’d been shaking. “I know this sounds crazy, but is this an orphanage?”

She shook her head. “No.”

My stomach sank, and a bitter taste filled my mouth. All of this effort, and now…nothing. “Oh.” Landon’s grip on me tightened, and I leaned on him. I forced a smile to my lips. “Well, thank you. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

We turned and heard her shift behind us.

“But it used to be. It was converted into a girls’ school in late 2000.”

I spun back to her. “Were you here when it was an orphanage?”

She nodded. “I am headmistress now, but I have been here through every incarnation.”

I smiled, a laugh bubbling up with the hope that filled me. “I know this is a long shot, but my mother was born in this town, and I was adopted. I was hoping maybe you could tell me if it was from here.”

Her eyes narrowed, darting from Landon to me. “What is your name?”

“I don’t know the name I had when I was here.”

She sighed again with the same exasperation. I would have bet a million dollars that she was tough as nails as a headmistress. “What is it now, American girl?”

“Rachel. Rachel Dawson.”

Her eyes widened, and she reached for the doorframe to steady herself. “Rachel?”

“Yes, ma’am.” A feeling bigger than myself crept in, invading every cell until I knew I stood on the edge of something I could not yet comprehend.

“You should come in,” she said softly.

I looked up at Landon, and he nodded.

“You know who I am,” I said to the older woman.

She nodded. “You’re Seo-yun’s girl.”

The tea in front of me was cooling quickly.

Landon sat across from me at the small kitchen table. It was scratched from years of use but still in usable condition and well cared for, which accurately described everything in the building around us.

He watched me carefully but didn’t push. He knew me well enough to leave me alone with my thoughts. I knew him well enough to know he needed to be let in.

“I can’t believe she lived here,” I said quietly. Had she done dishes at that sink? Sat at this table? In this chair? Had she worn the same uniforms as the girls outside?

“You lived here,” he added, sipping his tea from a handleless cup.

“I lived here.”

“You did,” Mrs. Rhee said as she came in the door with a file box in her arms. Landon rushed to take the box from her, and she nodded her thanks as he put it on the small table next to the door. “That’s all I have left of Seo-yun’s things,” she told me as she took the seat next to me. “She would want you to have them.”

“Thank you,” I told her, prying my eyes away from the box. “It’s more than I ever could have asked for.”

She nodded, openly studying me. “You have her eyes, the set of her chin. Do you have her sharp tongue?”

A smile played at my lips. “Yes. I think I do.”

“Good. I don’t remember every baby, you know. Not from those days.”

“How did you know I was her daughter?” I asked, trying my best to be patient. I felt like I’d found a well of information, but I didn’t want it a bucket at a time—I wanted to drink from the waterfall.

“Your mother,” she said, looking out the window at the girls who still sat on the bench outside. “She was an orphan. Never adopted, though. She came when I began working here. I was only twenty-five.” She smiled, lost in her memory. “She was a bright child, hated rules—hated anyone smothering her spirit. By the time she was eighteen, she had moved to Seoul. I was happy for her, to see her success. But she came home less than a year later, in labor with you.”

Mrs. Rhee tilted her head, and her forehead puckered as she remembered. “It was raining, and her time was so close that we could not get her to the hospital. We called for a doctor and delivered you in a bedroom upstairs. It was…long. Difficult.” She looked back at me like she was searching my face for signs of my mother. “You were small for a baby. Early, I think.”