I should have shut the door. I should have called for my parents to handle her. But I didn’t. I couldn’t move.
Because the look in her eyes wasn’t just desperation—it was sorrow, regret, and a deep longing that seemed to seep right into my bones.
“Your adoptive parents… they lied to you,” she said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.
My body went rigid.
“They tricked me, Emma. Then they stole you from me!” she said, grabbing my hands with trembling fingers.
“What are you talking about?” I managed.
Tears welled in her eyes as she pulled a folder from her bag and shoved a stack of papers into my hands.
I glanced down, not sure what to expect.
Birth records. My actual birth records.
And there, beneath a block of text, was a signature—her name.
“I never wanted to give you up, Emmie,” she whispered. “That’s what I used to call you when you were in my belly. I was young and scared, but they convinced me I wasn’t good enough. That you’d be better off without me. They manipulated me, and I’ve regretted it every day since.”
