“‘Then I ate and fell asleep. Are you mad at me?’ My mother couldn’t take it. She picked the child up and held her tight. ‘Mad at you? Honey, people don’t crawl through windows when life is going well.’”
“‘My heart aches looking at you. If this keeps up, you’ll be in real trouble before you’re grown. Here’s what we’ll do. Stay with us for a little while and catch your breath.’”
“‘We don’t have fancy food, but there’ll always be oatmeal and milk, and you’ll sleep in a clean bed. How does that sound?’”
“The little thing lit up and stayed. As time went on, I got attached to her like she was my own daughter. She was bright, sweet, and eager to learn.”
“I helped her with reading and simple math. She loved stories, especially Cinderella. I read to her every night. We cleaned her up and bought her some nice clothes.”
“But Mom and I lived with this constant fear that the children’s home would come looking for her with the police. This is a small town. People talk. And state agencies don’t just shrug things off. In the end, we sat down and made a hard decision.”
“We agreed to take Sophie back and then I would file to become her foster mother and start adoption proceedings. The reason it mattered so much was that I’d been told I could never have children. Congenital condition, they said. End of story.”
“My fiancé, Pete, left me over it. Said he didn’t want a wife who couldn’t give him kids. So when Sophie came into my life, it felt like maybe God had handed me another chance. I was over the moon.”
“Sophie and I had already planned everything—where her bed would go, where we’d put a little desk. I spent money I didn’t really have on toys. But reality had other ideas.”
“When we brought her back and I told the director I wanted to adopt her, the woman practically laughed in my face. Can you imagine? She said someone like me would never be approved.”
“Her main reasons were that I wasn’t married and didn’t make much money. I was furious. Half the country lives paycheck to paycheck. Since when does that mean you can’t love a child?”
“Wouldn’t she be better off in a home where she’s wanted than in an institution where she’s bullied? But nothing I said mattered. It was like talking to a wall.”
“Sophie cried and clung to my hand. Before we said goodbye, she gave me this watch. She said it was the only thing she had from her mother. I’ve worn it ever since, and every time I look at it, I think of her.”
“I miss that little girl terribly. I visit when I can on weekends and keep hoping something will change. Maybe one day they’ll let me bring her home for good. That’s all I want.”
Eugene listened without interrupting. “Thank you, Katie,” he said quietly. “Thank you for telling me all of that. Please write down the address of the children’s home.”
“As soon as I’m done with the symposium, I’m going there. I’ll do what I can to help. And your milk really is excellent—I’ve nearly finished half the bottle while listening.” From that moment on, Eugene couldn’t think about anything else.
He counted the hours until his work trip was over. He was desperate to get into the director’s office and ask about the child. That meeting with Katie felt like the first real thread that might lead him back to Natalie.
Maybe Natalie had known the girl’s mother. Maybe she had passed the watch along. Maybe the child’s last name would tell him something. Eugene wanted one thing and one thing only: to know what had happened to the woman he had loved.
He imagined seeing her again, apologizing plainly and honestly for the jealousy that had wrecked everything. No one had ever mattered to him the way she had. The minute the symposium ended, he headed back.
Using every professional connection he had, he managed to get a meeting with the director of the children’s home. She was an older woman with a hard face and a colder manner. She answered his questions with open irritation.
“Yes, Sophie Klimov has been in our care since early childhood. Her biological mother died of a massive heart attack when the child was about one year old. But I will not be giving you any more information.”
“You are not a relative. This conversation is over. And no, you may not see the child. It would serve no purpose. She has a difficult temperament and has already run away more than once.”
“At her age, that tells you plenty. The staff has their hands full with her.” Eugene was stunned by the woman’s bluntness…
