Every time he said it, another door seemed to open inside my silent house.
By the time the adoption became final, I had completely stopped waiting for Luke to become the difficult teenager everyone had promised me.
He was simply Luke.
My son.
I thought the difficult part was behind us.
I was wrong.
—
Two weeks after the adoption became official, Luke came to dinner and barely touched his meatloaf.
That frightened me.
Luke loved meatloaf.
That night, he only pushed it around the plate.
“Sweetheart?”
“I’m fine.”
“Terrible lie.”
I reached across the table and placed my hand on his.
He was shaking.
Not slightly.
His entire hand trembled.
“Luke, what happened?”
He pulled away.
“Mom, I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“And you’re probably going to wish you never adopted me.”
Fear went through me immediately.
Every warning I had ever heard flashed through my head.
