Barbara finally turned to me, crying now.
“And I froze,” she said. “Grandma cornered me and made a deal.”
“What deal?” I asked, though I already knew it would make me sick.
Barbara wiped her face. “College and her help… if I didn’t take on a baby and Dad. If I let them place you. If I said nothing.”
Her voice shattered. “I loved you. I wanted to grab you and run. But I was drowning.”
I stared at her, anger and grief twisting together.
“Grandma got rid of it when we moved.”
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Richard spoke again, small. “I tried to write you letters.”
My head snapped up. “You did?”
He nodded quickly. “Dozens. I kept them in a metal box.”
Barbara’s voice went flat. “Grandma got rid of it when we moved.”
My stomach dropped through the floor.
“So I never got one,” I said.
“This is pointless.”
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Richard’s eyes filled. “No.”
From the kitchen, Grandma’s voice floated out, sharp and smug.
“He was better off,” she called. “This is pointless.”
Barbara shot to her feet. “Be quiet!”
Silence.
Richard whispered, “I’m sorry, Alan.”
“Alan. Please. Alan.”
I couldn’t answer. I stood up and walked out before my body did something embarrassing like collapse.
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In the car, Barbara kept saying my name.
“Alan. Please. Alan.”
I stared out the window. “You let her.”
Barbara sobbed. “I know.”
After a long minute, I said, “Take me home.”
Home meaning Lisa and Mark’s.
Home meaning Lisa and Mark’s.
When I told my parents everything, Lisa turned pale. Mark’s jaw tightened so hard it looked painful.
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Lisa pulled out my old file. The one the system gave them.
“Unstable home,” she read, shaking. “No relatives willing. Disabled father, questionable capacity. Contact not advised.”
Mark’s hands trembled. “If we’d known he wanted contact,” he said, “we would’ve fought for open adoption.”
Lisa’s eyes filled. “We trusted the system. I’m so sorry.”
“You don’t owe anyone a relationship.”
Then Lisa grabbed my hands.
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