He smiled.
“I look like her.”
“You have her eyebrows.”
“And her nose?”
“And her nose.”
Then he noticed the boy’s picture.
“Who’s that?”
“Nobody.”
The answer came too quickly.
Lucas frowned.
“Then why did Mom keep his picture?”
I said nothing.
He looked at me.
“That lady told you something, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“About my dad?”
“I’m trying to understand everything first. Once I do, I’ll tell you.”
Lucas stared at me.
“You always tell me not to hide things because I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“So are you hiding something?”
“Yes.”
His honesty deserved mine.
“I need a little time. But I won’t leave you wondering forever.”
He nodded.
Not happily.
But he nodded.
And now I had no excuse not to find the truth.
An old school program gave me the boy’s first name.
After several wrong profiles, I finally found him online.
I sent one message.
My name is Elizabeth. I’m Teagan’s mother. I need to speak with you.
Two hours later, he replied with one word.
Lucas?
He knew the name.
We met the following morning.
He was already sitting at a café table, slowly turning his coffee cup in small circles.
Exactly the way he had done at my kitchen table ten years earlier.
“You knew Lucas’s name.”
“Teagan told me.”
“Then you knew about him.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come?”
He looked at me.
“I did.”
I froze.
“I came to the hospital.”
Trudy’s words rushed through my mind.
“You were there?”
He nodded.
“My parents wanted me to stay away. They believed a baby would ruin my future.”
“And what did you believe?”
“I was scared. I loved Teagan, but I let everyone else tell me what my life should look like.”
“That explains being eighteen,” I said.
“It doesn’t explain ten years.”
He looked down.
“Teagan told me not to come back until I was willing to choose for myself.”
“And?”
“I finally did.”
“After she died.”
“I didn’t know she was gone when I left home that day.”
“But you found out at the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“And you saw me carrying Lucas.”
He wiped his face.
“I panicked.”
“What about the next day?”
Silence.
“The next week?”
Nothing.
“The next year?”
His eyes dropped.
“You weren’t eighteen for ten years,” I said.
“I know.”
“I kept telling myself I had waited too long. Every year made that excuse easier.”
I believed him.
That didn’t excuse him.
“Does Lucas know about me?” he asked.
“He knows his father exists.”
“Can I see him?”
“No.”
His head lifted.
Continue reading on the next page →
