Chapter 4: The Woman Who Tried to Find Him
Leo stared at me as if I had just told him the world was ending.
“Three months ago?”” he repeated.
I nodded.
“And you didn't tell me?””
His voice cracked on the last word.
I had imagined this conversation many times during the previous three months. I'd rehearsed different versions while driving home from work, while folding his laundry, and while lying awake at two in the morning wondering whether I had made the right decision.
In every version, I had found the perfect words.
Now that the moment had arrived, I couldn't find a single sentence that didn't sound like an excuse.
“Your birth mother contacted the adoption agency,” I said carefully.
“They contacted me because the adoption records are sealed, and they needed to confirm certain information before they could respond.””
Leo stood up.
“So she knows who I am?””
“She knows your name. She knows you're sixteen. She knows you're living with me.””
“And you didn't tell me?””
“I was trying to understand what she wanted.””
He laughed bitterly.
“No. You were trying to keep her away from me.””
“That isn't fair.””
“Neither is keeping my own mother a secret from me!””
I flinched.
He saw it, but he didn't stop.
“You tell me adoption isn't something to be ashamed of. You tell me I can ask you anything. Then you hide the one person I've been wondering about my entire life.””
His words struck the exact place I'd been trying to protect.
I looked down at my hands.
“You're right. I should have talked to you sooner.””
The admission seemed to surprise him.
He had been prepared for an argument. I could see it in the way his shoulders remained tense, as if he were waiting for me to defend myself.
Instead, I continued.
“When the agency first contacted me, I was afraid.””
“Of her?””
“No.””
“Then of what?””
I looked toward the photograph in his hand.
“Of losing the life we'd built together.””
Leo's expression hardened.
“So you chose for me.””
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I did.””
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
It was the first time I had admitted that my good intentions had caused harm. I'd told myself I was protecting him from confusion, rejection, and the possibility of meeting someone who might not be able to give him what he wanted.
But I had also been protecting myself.
I had been afraid that if Leo met the woman who gave birth to him, he might discover a connection I could never provide. A familiar laugh. The same shape of his eyes. A story about his infancy that I had never known.
I had been afraid that biology might become more powerful than sixteen years of shared breakfasts, school mornings, fevers, birthdays, and whispered goodnights.
That fear had made me selfish.
I could admit that now.
Leo paced the room.
“What did she say?””
“The agency told me she wanted to know whether you were healthy and whether you might be willing to receive a letter.””
“A letter?””
“Yes.””
“Where is it?””
I hesitated.
He stopped moving.
“Mom. Where is the letter?””
“It's in my bedroom.””
His face changed.
“You have it?””
“Yes.””
“And you never gave it to me?””
I swallowed.
“I wanted to make sure it was appropriate to share. I spoke to the agency about arranging contact safely, and I was trying to get advice before making any decisions.””
“You had three months!””
“I know.””
“You had three whole months, and you let me sit here thinking nobody wanted me!””
His voice rose so sharply that I felt the sound in my chest.
“I didn't know you were thinking that.””
“Of course you didn't! You don't ask me anything unless it's about homework or chores!””
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
He was angry, and some of that anger belonged to me.
I had spent so long managing his life that I had forgotten to ask him what was happening inside it.
“I am sorry,” I said.
He stared at me.
I didn't expect the apology to fix anything. I didn't expect him to forgive me because I'd finally acknowledged the truth.
But I needed to say it without defending myself.
“I should have told you. I was scared, and I let that fear make the decision for both of us.””
He looked down at the photograph.
“What's her name?””
“Angela Reed.””
“Do you know what she looks like?””
“I've seen one photograph she provided to the agency.””
“Can I see it?””
“Yes.””
“Now?””
I nodded.
“Let me get the letter and the photograph.””
I walked to my bedroom, opened the drawer where I kept the adoption documents, and removed a smaller envelope tucked beneath the legal papers.
Inside was a handwritten letter and a photograph of a woman standing outside a brick building, her hair pulled into long braids, one hand resting against her chest.
She had Leo's eyes.
Not similar eyes.
The same deep-set brown eyes, with the same slight downward tilt at the outer corners.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the photograph.
I'd noticed the resemblance the first time I'd seen it. I'd immediately placed it back in the envelope, as though keeping the image out of sight might soften its power.
It hadn't.
I returned to Leo's room and handed him the photograph first.
He took it with both hands.
For a long moment, he didn't say anything.
Then he whispered, “She looks like me.””
“Yes.””
He turned the photograph over.
There was a date written on the back, followed by three words.
For my son.
His lips parted.
He read the words again.
Then he unfolded the letter.
“Can I read it alone?””
The question hurt, but I nodded.
“Of course.””
He carried the letter to his desk and sat down. I moved toward the doorway, giving him space.
Before I left, I heard him begin to read.
“My dearest Leo…”
I closed the door gently behind me.
Downstairs, my phone buzzed.
Marlene had sent a message asking whether I was available to speak. I called her from the kitchen.
“I told him about Angela,” I said.
“Did you give him the letter?””
“Yes.””
“How did he respond?””
“He's reading it now.””
Marlene paused.
“Denise, I need to tell you something else. The adoption petition you asked me to prepare has created a legal issue that we need to discuss carefully. It cannot simply undo a finalized adoption because of a family conflict. We need to separate the legal question from the immediate safety and family concerns.””
“I understand.””
“Do you? Because I don't want you making decisions out of anger or fear. If you believe you cannot safely care for Leo, we need to discuss lawful support options. But we must not treat a petition as a threat to frighten him into behaving.””
I closed my eyes.
“I don't want to frighten him.””
“I believe you. But he may experience it that way, especially if he already fears rejection.””
I looked up at the ceiling.
“I never wanted him to feel unwanted.””
“Then you need to be honest about why you sought legal advice, and you need to be equally honest about what you can and cannot promise.””
I thought about the letter upstairs.
“I can promise that I love him.””
“Then tell him that. But don't promise that everything will go back to the way it was. It shouldn't.””
After we ended the call, I sat at the table and watched sunlight crawl across the kitchen tiles.
I could hear the refrigerator humming.
A car passed outside.
Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
Then I heard a sound I hadn't heard from Leo in years.
He was crying.
I stood, instinctively moving toward the stairs, but stopped halfway.
He had asked to read the letter alone.
I needed to respect that.
Twenty minutes later, he came downstairs holding the pages.
His eyes were red, and his cheeks were wet.
“Why did she give me up?””
I pulled out a chair.
“Sit down, baby.””
He sat, but he didn't release the letter.
“She says she was nineteen. She says she was living with her mother, and she didn't have enough money to take care of me. She says she wanted to finish school.””
He looked at me.
“Was I a mistake?””
“No.””
The answer came so quickly that he blinked.
“No, Leo. You were not a mistake.””
“Then why didn't she keep me?””
I reached across the table, stopping just short of his hand.
“Sometimes people love a child and still aren't able to raise that child. I don't know every detail of what happened to Angela, but I know the agency placed you with me because she agreed to an adoption plan.””
He stared at the letter.
“She says she never stopped thinking about me.””
My throat tightened.
“I believe her.””
He looked at me with a mixture of grief and anger.
“How can you believe her? You don't even know her!””
He was right.
I didn't know Angela.
I knew only the limited information in the adoption file, the careful words of a woman who had once placed her infant son in another family's arms, and the photograph that had unsettled me because it showed me a face I could never give Leo.
“I don't know everything about her,” I said.
“But I know that reaching out after all these years probably wasn't easy.””
He wiped his cheek.
“Would you let me meet her?””
The question I had feared for three months had finally arrived.
I looked at my son.
The adoption papers were still in the folder upstairs. My legal concerns had not disappeared. Neither had the damage caused by his behavior.
But neither could I let my own fear determine whether he deserved to know his history.
“If we can arrange it safely, with the agency's help, I'll support you in exploring contact with her.””
He studied my face.
“Even if I want to know her?””
“Yes.””
“Even if she feels like my mother?””
The words were barely audible.
I felt the pain before I could stop it.
Then I took a breath.
“Leo, you don't have to choose one person to love. And I don't want you to believe that learning about Angela means betraying me.””
His eyes filled again.
“But what if I find out something about her that makes me want to live with her?””
I couldn't give him the answer he wanted.
“I don't know what will happen,” I admitted.
“We'll have to deal with the truth as it comes.””
He looked down at the photograph.
Then he whispered, “I wish you had told me.””
“I know.””
For the first time since the night before, he reached toward me.
He didn't hug me.
He simply placed his hand on the table, palm up, between us.
I rested my fingers against his.
We stayed like that for several minutes.
It wasn't forgiveness.
It wasn't a solution.
But it was the first honest thing we'd shared in a long time.
Then Leo looked up.
“There's something else in the letter.””
My stomach tightened.
“What?””
He unfolded the final page and pointed to a paragraph near the bottom.
“She says she didn't contact me because she wanted to take me away from you.””
I nodded.
“Okay.””
“She says she contacted you because she found out something about my adoption file.””
My hand went cold.
“What kind of thing?””
Leo turned the page toward me.
The last sentence had been underlined twice.
Before Leo turns seventeen, he deserves to know why the original adoption placement was delayed and who intervened to make it possible.
I stared at the words.
May you like
Because I knew exactly what Angela was talking about.
And I had spent sixteen years hoping that part of the story would never need to be told.
