“You should have told me,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“But listen to me.”
I pulled back.
“You are my son.”
He stared at me.
“You are not going anywhere.”
His face crumpled.
“Adoption is not a trial period, Luke. You cannot misbehave your way out of being my child.”
A small broken laugh escaped him.
“You’re stuck with me forever.”
His entire body seemed to loosen.
And while I held him, I made myself a promise.
I was going to find Emma.
—
The next morning, after Luke left for school, I called Denise.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me about Emma?”
Silence.
“There were decisions made years ago,” Denise finally said.
“What decisions?”
“Direct contact had become restricted while Emma was adjusting to her placement.”
“Restricted by whom?”
Another silence.
“The adults involved.”
Letters were supposedly meant to go through the adults.
Contact was supposed to be reconsidered later.
