Chapter 2
“Me.”
My mother said it so quietly that I almost asked her to repeat it.
Then she sat down.
Nobody had invited her to sit. She lowered herself into the chair at the head of the table, the chair she had occupied through birthday dinners and Christmas mornings and every anniversary of the day my son supposedly died.
“I arranged it,” she said.
I gripped the back of Marcus’s chair.
“What exactly did you arrange?”
Mom looked at Claire.
“Don’t look at her,” I said. “Answer me.”
“The baby’s placement.”
“His placement?”
I could barely recognize my own voice.
“You told me he died.”
Mom began crying.
“I thought you would never recover from another loss.”
“He was alive. There wasn’t another loss until you made one.”
Marcus moved beside me but did not touch me.
Claire stood.
“Mom, tell her what you told me.”
Evelyn wiped her eyes.
“I told Claire you wanted her to raise him.”
I turned toward my sister.
“And you believed her?”
Claire nodded, crying harder.
“You were in intensive care. Mom said you had been frightened during the pregnancy, that you didn’t think you could manage after what happened. She said you wanted him placed with family.”
“I spent years trying to have a baby.”
“I know. I should have asked you myself.”
“Should have?”
My voice broke on the words.
Marcus pulled out a chair.
“Maya, sit for a moment.”
“I don’t want to sit.”
“All right.”
He stepped away.
I looked at Mom.
“Who made the papers?”
She stared at the table.
“There was an agency. Your signature was needed.”
“Did I sign?”
“No.”
Claire sank back into her chair.
“I didn’t know that,” she whispered.
Mom had arranged private placement papers. She claimed she had permission to handle matters while I recovered. Someone submitted documents carrying a version of my signature.
I heard her words but could not make them fit inside an ordinary family dinner.
My mother had not kept a photograph from me.
She had helped people put my name beneath a decision I never made.
“Who knew he was alive?” I asked.
Mom looked at Claire again.
“I believed you knew,” Claire said quickly. “For years, I thought you chose not to talk about it.”
“Why?”
“Mom said it hurt you. She said we should let you decide when you wanted contact.”
“So you sent pictures to everyone except me.”
“I sent pictures to Mom. I sent messages through her because she said—”
Claire stopped.
She heard it too.
Everything had passed through Evelyn.
Every question. Every answer. Every piece of my son’s life.
“How long have you known I thought he died?”
Claire looked down.
“Three weeks.”
I let go of the chair.
Three weeks.
She had brought Noah to my house during those weeks. She had watched me give him apple slices. She had let me say how beautiful he was.
She knew.
Marcus spoke.
“Claire called me last night. She said she had found a copy of the hospital discharge. She wanted me to come before dinner.”
“And you agreed to keep quiet.”
“I agreed to look at the papers. Then I stayed quiet when I should have called you.”
He did not say he was protecting me.
I was grateful for that much, though I could not bear to look at him.
I took out my phone.
Mom rose sharply.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling for help.”
“Maya, this can be settled inside the family.”
“It happened inside the family.”
I called the police non-emergency number because I did not know what else to do. I explained that I had been told my newborn died five years earlier and had just learned he might have been placed with my sister through forged documents.
The woman on the phone asked where the child was.
“Next door,” I said.
She asked whether he was safe.
Claire answered before I could.
“He’s safe. He’s with Mrs. Turner.”
I repeated it.
The woman told me officers would come to take a report and make sure everyone remained safe.
Mom sat down again.
“You’ll destroy Claire’s life.”
I looked at her.
“What did you think happened to mine?”
Claire put her face in her hands.
I stepped into the kitchen because I could not stand beneath the chandelier anymore.
Marcus followed to the doorway.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t get to make this about whether I forgive you tonight.”
“I know.”
“I need the documents. All of them.”
“I’ll help get them.”
“And don’t let Mom go next door.”
He nodded.
I called Mrs. Turner.
I asked her to keep Noah with her until I came over with Claire. I told her there was a serious family matter and that he should not hear the argument.
“He’s eating popcorn,” she said gently. “Take your time.”
I leaned against the counter.
My son was eating popcorn.
He had teeth. Favorite movies. Shoes waiting beside a neighbor’s door.
He was alive.
When I returned to the dining room, Mom was holding her purse.
“I need a moment outside,” she said.
“You need to stay and answer questions.”
Claire lifted her head.
“I’ll give them every paper I have,” she said.
Mom stared at her.
For the first time that night, Claire did not look away.
I picked up the hospital page.
The signature at the bottom was hers. The name above it was mine.
May you like
There would be time to find out what that meant.
First, I needed to see my son.
