- It was a routine checkup.
- I settled back against the pillow and listened for the wheels of his bassinet returning.
- Instead, my parents came in with a folder.
-
“What’s that?”
- “Adoption papers,” Dad said.
-
My parents came in with a folder.
- “What?” I laughed because it made no sense. “You promised to help me.”
- “This is the help,” Mom said.
- I stared at them.
- “You… you never really changed your minds, did you? It was a trick.” I bit my lip as tears sprang to my eyes. “I’m not signing anything.”
-
“It was a trick.”
- Dad placed the folder on my lap.
- “Sign them or don’t come home.”
- I looked at Mom. “You cleared his drawer. We folded his clothes together.”
- “You need to think about your future.” She pointed at the papers. “Sign them.”
- “I did. That’s what I’ve been doing.”
-
“Sign them.”
- I clenched my fingers around the hospital bed sheet.
- My heart was breaking, but for one stupid moment, I glanced at the door, hoping Daniel would return to save us.
- But he was long gone.
- “Give me a month,” I said. “I’ll work. I’ll pay you something.”
-
My heart was breaking.
- “And who watches the baby?” Mom asked.
- “Please. Just until I can arrange something.”
- Dad shook his head and held out the pen.
- “You sign, or you’re out on the street.”
- I signed.
-
“Give me a month”
- My name barely looked like mine.
- Anyone reading it would think I’d wanted to, and I couldn’t bear that thought.
- ***
- Later, Mom said Fabian had gone to an adoptive family. She wouldn’t tell me where.
- Nobody had even taken a photograph of me holding him. It was like he never existed at all.
- I went home to the empty drawer.
-
She wouldn’t tell me where.
- The booties were still in my hospital bag.
- I put one in my purse and left the other beside his clothes.
- ***
- As soon as I could, I left home and started searching for my baby.
- I contacted agencies, searched records, and hired investigators. One couldn’t match the papers to any placement.
-
I put one in my purse.
- For 31 years, I kept trying.
- My parents never changed their story, and eventually, I stopped talking to them altogether.
- Fabian’s bootie traveled from purse to purse.
- Once, a bottle of nail polish broke in my purse and almost ruined it. I kept it in a little plastic bag after that.
-
I kept trying.
- Some days, I held it before answering a call about another possible lead.
- ***
- Then, at 49, I collapsed at work with terrible stomach pain.
- I was rushed into emergency surgery.
- The next afternoon, my surgeon checked on me. As he leaned over my chart, a silver cross slipped from his collar.
- I saw the nick on one arm, and my heart monitor started bleeping madly.
-
I collapsed at work.
- The doctor frowned.
- “Are you okay, ma’am?”
- I pointed at the cross. “Where did you get that? I put that cross in my son’s blanket the day he was born.”
- His hand went to it.
-
I pointed at the cross.
- “Did they ever tell you what really happened to him?”
- “They said he’d been adopted.”
-
“What was your son’s name?”
- “Fabian.”
- He went still.
-
“Fabian.”
- “When was he born?”
- I gave him the date.
- “And the cross…” His fingers found the cross around his neck.
- “It has my grandmother’s initials on the back. E.M. The M is crooked, almost touching the edge.”
- The color drained from his face.
-
“And the cross…”
- He pulled the chair closer.
-
“I was that baby. My father raised me.”
- “Daniel!?” I struggled to sit upright. “How is that possible? He abandoned us.”
- His eyebrows lifted, and he leaned back.
- “He’s not the parent who left me…”
-
“He abandoned us.”
- Those words cut deep.
- “I never had a choice. I don’t know what Daniel told you, but he was wrong.”
- Fabian shook his head.
- “You signed papers giving me up. What’s there to be wrong about?”
- “I had no choice!”
-
“He’s not the parent who left me…”
- “There’s always a choice,” he replied.
- “My father said I couldn’t come home with you. I’d just given birth. Daniel was gone, and I would’ve ended up on the street with a newborn.”
- Fabian nodded thoughtfully.
- Maybe I could still prove to him that I was telling the truth.
-
“I had nowhere to go.”
- “I searched for you,” I said. “I thought they’d changed your name. I didn’t know your father had you.”
- Fabian stood abruptly.
- “None of this makes sense. I need to step outside, make a call…”
-
“Wait! Pass me my purse, please?”
- He fetched it from the cupboard, then stepped into the hall, already dialing on his phone.
-
“None of this makes sense.”
- I rummaged through my things.
- The paperwork I’d accumulated over years of searching was at home, useless to me now, but I had one thing I could show him.
- I found the plastic bag containing the bootie.
- It looked terrible… the yarn was faded and fraying, red nail polish covered the heel, and it had collected a few other stains over the years.
-
It looked terrible
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