“I want Rowan’s records.”
“Okay. Answer one question.”
I leaned forward.
“Did Rowan die?”
Dr. Jefferson sat down slowly.
“Rowan was critically ill.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
He clasped his hands together.
“He stabilized after the transfer.”
I gripped the desk.
“You told me he had died.”
“I was told you understood the option of placing him with another family. His mother said private placement had already been discussed with the social worker.”
“Rowan was critically ill.”
“Did she talk to me about it?”
He looked away.
That was more than enough.
“It was my mother,” I said. “Right?”
Watson’s voice broke.
“We buried him.”
Dr. Jefferson swallowed.
“His mother arranged the funeral. I was told that you and Watson understood there wouldn’t be a viewing with the body present.”
“We buried him.”
“The family arranged it?” I asked. “Or did she?”
Silence.
“Did she ever ask me, without my mother present, if I wanted my son placed with another family?”
Dr. Jefferson looked down.
“No.”
“Did she ask Watson?”
“No.”
“Then she never confirmed our consent,” I said. “She only had the signature of a woman broken by grief and my mother’s version of that grief.”
Dr. Jefferson looked down.
“I became convinced that Rowan needed a stable home.”
“He already had one,” Watson said. “It was ours.”
I picked up the bracelet.
“I’m going to request all the files. Every page. Every note. Then I’ll file complaints wherever necessary.”
Dr. Jefferson nodded.
“No,” I said. “You don’t understand. But you will.”
“It was ours.”
Watson’s voice broke again.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know now,” the doctor replied. “The couple moved out years ago.”
I held up the photograph.
“He found us first.”
When we entered the driveway, the party was still going on. Riley and Rex were still laughing in the yard, and my mother’s car was parked near the curb.
Watson took my hand.
“Let me go in first.”
“He found us first.”
“No,” I replied. “You’re coming with me.”
We went up the porch steps together.
A tall young man was standing by the railing, as if he were deciding whether to knock or run away.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I left the box and went. But I heard your laughter in the yard and I couldn’t leave.”
I recognized him.I spoke before he could say another word.
“You’re coming with me.”
“Rowan.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“I don’t know what to call you.”
“You don’t have to call me anything yet.”
He looked at Watson.
“Is he mad?”
Watson made a broken sound.
“With you? Never.”
Rowan looked back at me.
“I just needed to know if no one had ever loved me.”
“No.”
I took a step toward him and stopped.
“May I?”
“Is he mad?”
He nodded.
I touched his cheek with two fingers.
He was warm, he was real, and he was breathing.
“We loved you every second of your life, my son.”
Then the sliding patio door opened behind us.
Mom came out carrying a cheerful gift bag.
“Dawn?” Why are you out here? I brought the boys’ presents.
It was warm, it was real, and it was breathing.
My mother looked at Rowan as if she were seeing a ghost.
“Dawn,” she whispered.
I stepped between her and my son.
“Which boys, Mom?”
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
“You brought presents for Riley and Rex,” I said. “But you knew there were three of them.”
Watson stood beside me.
“You told us Rowan was dead.”
My mother kept staring at Rowan.
Mom’s hand tightened around the bag.
“Not now. Let’s talk later, when the yard isn’t full of teenagers.”
“No,” I said. “Let’s talk now.”
The yard fell silent. Riley appeared first by the door, with Rex right behind him.
“Mom?” Riley asked. “What’s going on?”
Watson’s voice cracked.
“Guys, this is Rowan.”
“What’s going on?”
Rex stared at him.
“Our brother?”
For several seconds, no one moved.
Rowan looked down.
“I didn’t come here to take anything from you.”
Riley moved closer, trying to resist the urge to hug him.
“You’re not taking anything from us.”
Rowan’s jaw twitched.
“I spent my whole life thinking I was the one no one wanted to keep.”
“No,” I said. “That was never true.”
“You’re not taking anything from us.”
Mom started to cry.
“You were falling apart, Dawn. Two babies at home, bills, machines, no sleep. I arranged the funeral because you couldn’t even look at the small coffin.”
I felt nauseous.
“You told me not to look at it,” I replied.
“I wanted you to remember him happy. Not like that.”
“You placed his framed baby picture on top of a closed coffin and said Rowan was too fragile to see it. But it was empty.”
“I was protecting you.”
“You were falling apart, Dawn.”
“No. You were hiding what you did.”
Watson wiped his face.
“We buried an empty box because you decided that grief was easier to control than the truth.”
Mom looked at Rowan.
“I found you a good home. Parents who loved you even before they met you. They had money. They could give you their undivided attention.”
Rowan shuddered.
“You told them no one wanted me. You told them my parents gave me up because they didn’t want another mouth to feed.”
“You were hiding what you did.”
“I said your mother couldn’t raise you.”
“She could,” I replied. “Tired mothers are still mothers.”
Riley looked at Mom.
“Gran, did you know I was still alive all this time?”
She didn’t answer.
Rex backed away when she tried to touch him.
“No.”
“Rex, honey.”
“No. You can’t touch us now.”
I pointed to the side door.
“Go away.”
“Tired mothers are still mothers.”
“Dawn, please.”
“All contact will be through a lawyer.”
“Are you going to cut me off from my family?”
“No,” I said. “You did that eighteen years ago.”
After he left, Rowan stood near the porch steps.
Riley looked at him.
“Do you like chocolate cake?”
“Dawn, please.”
Rowan let out a small, broken laugh.
“I don’t know. I usually ate vanilla cake.”
Rex wiped his eyes.
“That’s a tragedy. It’ll be the first thing we fix.”
I took out the cake and lit three small candles.
One for each of my children.
Watson whispered,
“Make a wish.”
I looked at my children. We weren’t mended or whole yet, but at last we were in the same light.
“I’ve got my wish back,” I said. “Now we have to learn how to keep it.”
“It’ll be the first thing we fix.”
Later, Rowan and I sat on the porch steps as the party faded into a quieter noise behind us.
“I’m not asking you to pretend I raised you,” I said. “And I’m not asking you to call me Mom before you’re ready.”
“I don’t know what I’m ready for.”
“That’s okay,” I replied. “You can set the pace. But I need you to know something. There’s always been a place for you in this family. Even when I thought you weren’t.”
Her mouth trembled.
“I don’t know what I’m ready for.”
“I spent too much time thinking I was the baby no one wanted to keep.”
I shook my head.
“No. You were the baby someone took all the options from.”
Then she reached out and placed her hand on my arm.
“Thank you for fighting for me, Dawn.”
My chest tightened at the sound of my name. It hurt, but it was sincere. And sincerity was more than I’d had in eighteen years.
“Thank you for fighting for me.”
“I’m going to…”“Request all the files,” I said. “Then I’ll talk to a lawyer. Dr. Jefferson and my mother won’t be able to hide behind eighteen years of silence.”
Behind us, Riley shouted:
“Rowan! Rex says preferring vanilla cake counts as a personality flaw!”
