Durham, New Hampshire, 1973 — Only one week left. Only one more week left until he would have two parents, not one.Continue reading “Baby of Mine”
Chicago, Illinois, November 2005 — Connor hated rain. In some way, it reminded him too much of the emotional turbulence he’d experienced in his teen years. Especially the day everything had gone wrong.Continue reading “Rainy Night Cuddles”
Rockford, Illinois, 2003 — Within a few seconds after opening her mixed-brown eyes, Kelly immediately squinted them against the bright lights surrounding her.Continue reading “Falling In Love With You”
Rural Idaho, 2007 – Margaret stared into her coffee, so deep in thought, she was oblivious to the footsteps that entered the dining room.Continue reading “Mother’s Day – Part 2”
Rural Idaho, 2007 – To people across the nation, Mother’s Day was a day to celebrate mothers and all they’d done. To Margaret, it was just another Sunday.Continue reading “Mother’s Day”
Rural Idaho, 2006 – Margaret adjusted the potted plant for the umpteenth time. All day, she’d been occupied with cleaning house, though it hardly needed it.Continue reading “2006 – Part 2”
Chicago, Illinois, 2006 — He didn’t know what to say, or even how to react for that matter.
Connor leaned back in his chair, staring at the Polaroid photo in his hand. Kelly had found it while she was helping him search for his biological parents.
The young woman in the photo had strawberry-blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, light brown eyes, and a small smattering of freckles across her nose.
Just like him. Well, sort of. His hair was darker, closer to auburn.
He sighed and set the photo down onto the table, then rubbed his forehead as he did a quick run-through of the information he had on Margaret Reid: She was forty-seven years old, unmarried, and lived somewhere in rural Idaho.
She was also his biological mother. And the only question left now was if he was willing to meet her.
His wife slid into the seat next to him and reached over to take his hand. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I don’t-” His voice sounded hoarse, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t know. There was a time when I wanted to meet her, and my father, but by the time I got out of that last foster home…” He shrugged. “I didn’t care anymore.”
There was a beat of silence before Kelly spoke again. “I think you should at least call her,” she said. “I know I would.”
Just then, the baby monitor on the counter behind them came to life with three-month-old Liam’s cries. Kelly gently squeezed his hand, then left to get their son.
As the cries started to wane, Connor grabbed the phone and hesitated. Would she believe him? If she did, would she want to talk to him? Would she want anything to do with him at all?
He dialed the number hastily scribbled onto a scrap of paper. After the second ring, he heard it pick up.
“Mar-” His voice cracked, and he swallowed. “Margaret Reid?”
Silence. Then, “Jack?”
“Uh, no, I’m-” He took a deep breath. It was now or never. “My name is Connor.”
Dover, New Hampshire, 1979 — She didn’t want to give him up.
Margaret Reid hesitated, light brown eyes darting between her one-month-old son and the couple that had adopted him. She felt a lump grow in her throat, but suppressed it and forced herself to save the tears for later.Continue reading “1979”