And now I had no excuse not to find the truth.
An old school program gave me the boy’s first name.
After several wrong profiles, I finally found him online.
I sent one message.
My name is Elizabeth. I’m Teagan’s mother. I need to speak with you.
Two hours later, he replied with one word.
Lucas?
He knew the name.
We met the following morning.
He was already sitting at a café table, slowly turning his coffee cup in small circles.
Exactly the way he had done at my kitchen table ten years earlier.
“You knew Lucas’s name.”
“Teagan told me.”
“Then you knew about him.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come?”
He looked at me.
“I did.”
I froze.
“I came to the hospital.”
Trudy’s words rushed through my mind.
“You were there?”
He nodded.
“My parents wanted me to stay away. They believed a baby would ruin my future.”
“And what did you believe?”
“I was scared. I loved Teagan, but I let everyone else tell me what my life should look like.”
“That explains being eighteen,” I said.
“It doesn’t explain ten years.”
He looked down.
“Teagan told me not to come back until I was willing to choose for myself.”
“And?”
“I finally did.”
“After she died.”
“I didn’t know she was gone when I left home that day.”
“But you found out at the hospital.”
“Yes.”
“And you saw me carrying Lucas.”
He wiped his face.
“I panicked.”
“What about the next day?”
Silence.
“The next week?”
Nothing.
“The next year?”
His eyes dropped.
“You weren’t eighteen for ten years,” I said.
“I know.”
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