The Confrontation
Isabella’s heels splashed through puddles as she walked toward the woman, heart pounding like a drum.
The woman froze when she saw her. Her eyes widened, then hardened. “Can I help you?” she asked cautiously.
Isabella’s voice shook. “Where did you get that boy?”
The woman straightened, clutching the grocery bag tighter. “He’s my son.”
“He’s lying!” Isabella shouted, her voice cracking. “That boy is mine! He has my son’s birthmark — my son’s eyes! Tell me what you did!”
Traffic slowed. People stared. The rain kept falling, indifferent to the storm between the two women.
Isabella grabbed the woman’s arm. “Tell me the truth. Where did you find him?”
The woman’s lips trembled. Tears welled in her eyes.
“I didn’t take him,” she whispered. “I swear, I didn’t.”
“Then where?” Isabella demanded.
She finally broke. “He was abandoned — behind a gas station in Fresno. He was sick, starving, barely breathing. I took him to a hospital. No one came for him. I couldn’t have children of my own… so I stayed with him. Then, when I couldn’t afford treatment, I gave him up for adoption. That’s all I know.”
Isabella staggered back. The world blurred.
“What year?” she whispered.
“Five years ago,” the woman said softly.
That was the year Liam disappeared.
