“We’ll help you,” Dad added.
“You mean I can bring him home?”
Mom nodded.
“We’ll help you.”
I cried before I could ask anything else.
I had spent weeks counting money that wasn’t enough. Now, somebody was saying we could manage.
I found part-time work at a bakery.
Mom cleared a drawer for the baby’s clothes.
I cried.
Dad asked whether we needed a crib.
At night, I taught myself to crochet from a library book.
The first bootie came out crooked. I undid it and tried again.
When Mom helped fold a tiny shirt, I moved aside to make room for her.
I wanted this new version of us to last so badly that I never questioned it.
I taught myself to crochet.
I chose the name. Fabian.
At night, I whispered it to my belly.
“Fabian. Hi, Fabian.”
I no longer thought about Daniel. He’d clearly changed his mind and abandoned us both.
Fabian was born a few weeks after I finally finished a passable pair of booties.
He’d abandoned us both.
He was warm and furious and perfect.
When the nurse placed him against me, I forgot to be frightened. I loved him so much!
Before the nurse took him for his checkup, I tucked my grandmother’s silver cross into his blanket.
One arm of the cross had a tiny nick.
“So you’ll always have something from me,” I whispered.
I loved him so much!
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.
