Chapter 2: The adoption papers
The air seemed to vanish from the room. I stared at her, wondering if the medication was distorting reality.
“Excuse me?” I murmured.
Mrs. Sterling reached into her bag and withdrew a thick, folded packet. She dropped it onto the nightstand beside my water pitcher.
“Sign here,” she instructed, tapping the page with a long red nail. “It’s a Parental Rights Waiver form. I had my neighbor draft it; he’s a notary, so it’s official.”
I scanned the document. The formatting was sloppy, riddled with errors—legally laughable. But the intent was horrifyingly unmistakable.
“What are you talking about?” My voice shook—not from fear, but from a molten anger coursing through me. “These are my children. Both of them.”
“Don’t be selfish, Elena,” Mrs. Sterling spat. “Karen has been in tears all week. She’s been trying for five years. She’s infertile. It’s tragic. And here you are, delivering twins like a rabbit. It’s simply unfair.”
Karen was Mark’s older sister. A woman who had never cared for me, largely because I refused to bow to her. A woman who had married for wealth but couldn’t purchase motherhood.
“So you expect me to… hand one over?” I asked, stunned. “As if it’s a spare kidney?”
“Specifically, the boy,” Mrs. Sterling replied, moving toward Leo’s crib. “Karen always wanted a son. Her husband has a legacy to uphold. And let’s be honest, Elena. You’re unemployed. You’re lazy. How do you plan to raise two newborns? You’ll be drowning in diapers and tears within days. Karen already has a nanny arranged. She has a nursery that makes this one look pathetic. She can offer him a real future. You should be grateful she’s relieving you of the burden.”
“A burden?” I pushed myself upright, ignoring the searing pull in my abdomen. “My son is not a burden. He’s my son. And Karen is not taking him. Remove that paper from my sight.”
Mrs. Sterling’s expression turned to stone. The façade of the “concerned grandmother” fell away, exposing the tyrant beneath.
“Listen carefully, you little gold digger,” she hissed. “Mark agrees with this. He knows it’s for the best. He knows you can’t manage this. If you refuse to sign, we’ll petition for custody on grounds of incapacity. We’ll tell the court you’re mentally unstable. We’ll claim you’re unfit. And with Mark being a lawyer, who do you think they’ll side with? The accomplished attorney or the couch potato?”
“Did Mark agree to this?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm.
“Of course,” she replied… perhaps truthfully, perhaps not. In that moment, I no longer recognized my husband. “He wants his sister to be happy. He understands that sacrifice is part of family obligation. He understands that you are… limited.”
She leaned into the crib. Her fingers, heavy with gold rings, reached for Leo.
“I’ll take him now,” she said evenly. “Karen’s waiting in the car. Best to do it fast, like pulling off a Band-Aid. You still have a baby. Luna, right? Girls are simpler anyway. You can play dress-up with her.”
