“That you had been adopted. That the records were sealed. No information,” her voice turned bitter. “The director wouldn’t even look at me. She just said I should be happy the children were with a family.”
Alex pictured the scene. His mother standing in the same lobby where he himself had recently cried, being turned away by a stranger.
“I’ve spent seventeen years looking for you through private investigators,” Susan said quietly.
“You were looking?” Alex was surprised. There was nothing about that in the file.
Susan opened a desk drawer and pulled out a thick folder. She emptied its contents onto the desk: business cards from PIs, denial letters from social services, printouts of official inquiries.
“Seventeen years,” she repeated, sifting through the papers. “Everywhere, the same answer: the records are sealed.”
Alex picked up a few of the business cards—agencies he had never heard of. Small, low-budget outfits that took on hopeless cases.
“The investigators couldn’t get access to sealed adoption records,” his mother explained. “All I knew was that you were adopted in 2007. Nothing more.”
“What about social media?” Alex asked. “The internet?”
“I searched for the name ‘Morgan,’ but your last names had been changed. I was chasing ghosts,” Susan said with a bitter smile. “I lost your trail completely.”
Alex realized they had been living in parallel worlds. He was searching for his mother, and she was searching for them. But between them stood a wall of laws, bureaucracy, and indifference.
“Why didn’t you hire a better detective agency?” he asked.
“With what money?” His mother gestured to her pay stubs. “I’m a branch manager. The salary isn’t what you think. The top agencies charged fees I could never afford.”
Alex took out his phone and showed her photos of his sister. Susan took the phone with shaking hands, holding it close to her eyes.
“My baby girl,” she whispered. “What is she like?”
“She’s beautiful.”
The pictures showed Maria at the office, at a birthday party with friends, on vacation with her boyfriend. The ordinary life of a successful young woman.
“She looks like I did when I was young,” his mother remarked, swiping through the photos. “Same eyes, same chin.”
“She knows about the collectors,” Alex said carefully. “But she can’t forgive you yet.”
“She doesn’t want to see me?” Pain was evident in Susan’s voice.
“She told me to tell you she’s not angry. Just not ready,” Alex put his phone away. “She needs time.”
“I understand,” his mother nodded. “I’ll wait as long as it takes. What does she do for a living?”
“Advertising. She’s a designer. Very talented,” Alex managed a small smile. “At the group home, she used to draw cards for Mother’s Day. She always had an eye for beautiful things.”
Susan cried silently, picturing the daughter who had grown up without her.
Alex leaned back in his chair, gathering his thoughts.
“Forgiveness doesn’t erase the pain,” he said slowly. “For twenty years, I thought you didn’t want us. That you got rid of us. And now?”
“Now I know the truth. But the trauma is still there. The feeling of being abandoned hasn’t gone away.”
Susan nodded in understanding.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me right away,” she said quietly. “I know I have no right to ask.”
“I want to try to get to know you again,” Alex paused. “Slowly. A cup of coffee once a month. Maybe, over time…”
“I’ll wait as long as it takes,” his mother interrupted. “A lifetime, if I have to.”
Outside, it was beginning to get dark. The business day was ending, but their conversation was timeless.
“Is there… anyone in your life?” Alex asked. “A partner, a relationship?”
“No,” Susan shook her head. “After that day, I couldn’t let anyone get close. It’s just been work, home, and visiting your father’s grave. That’s it.”
“That’s not right,” Alex said. “You’re still young. You should be living.”
“How can you live when you’ve lost the most precious thing in the world?” his mother asked.
Alex had no answer to that question.
Alex stood up, took a business card from his pocket, and placed it on the desk.
“My number,” he said. “When you’re ready to talk, call me.”
“And you’re not ready now?” Susan asked.
“Right now, I need time to process all of this,” he answered honestly. “I’ve dreamed of this meeting for twenty years. And now I don’t know what I feel.”
He walked to the door and paused. He wanted to hug his mother but realized he wasn’t ready for that kind of closeness yet. There was too much pain between them.
“Goodbye,” he said.
“Goodbye, son,” Susan replied.
And that word, “son,” sounded like a prayer.
Alex walked out of the office, out of the bank, and onto the street. He breathed in the cold air and felt that something in his life had changed forever. Back in the office, Susan sat alone, holding her son’s business card. For the first time in twenty years, she felt a glimmer of hope—faint, fragile, but real. The path to forgiveness would be long and difficult. But it had begun. And that, in itself, was a miracle. The plant on the windowsill reached for the last rays of the winter sun, like a soul reaching for light after a long darkness.
The phone call came on a Friday afternoon while Alex was sorting through mail at his office. An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.
“Alex?”
Comments are closed.