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
