Not My Mother by Miranda Smith (lightweight ebook reader .txt) 📕

I always knew the best thing I could do for you was leave you in the hands of prepared parents; I’d never considered the most eligible person was in front of my face the entire time.

“I’m willing to meet with them,” I said, watching the horses as they galloped down the track. I had to look away, in case she declined. “But I already know you. I know you would be a perfect mother. And I know how much you want a baby.”

Amelia was silent for several seconds. I could feel her staring at me, but I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want my suggestion to ruin the friendship we’d built. It’s not like I was asking to borrow a sweater, or even a car. I was asking her to raise you, my child.

“Have you and Bruce considered adoption?”

“We have,” she said, looking away. “I guess I never thought it would be a situation like this.”

“I understand if you don’t want to—”

“I didn’t say I don’t want to. I care about you deeply, Sarah. But I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“I’ve been set on adoption since the first time we met in your office. I’ve known that’s what I needed to do since Cliff died.”

I looked down at my belly, at this hardened mushroom that contained a child who was half me, half him. How I wish things had been different. Parenting with Cliff would have been a struggle. We had little money, very few opportunities, but we had so much love, and we could have given you a foundation that neither of us got from our own families.

We used to talk about it all the time. Eventually, we’d get a place and paint a nursery. Cliff never knew whether you were a boy or a girl, but funnily enough, he’d talk about painting the nursery pink. And he said he’d paint bunnies and ducks above the trim. And fill a shelf with books so we could read to you every night. He loved the idea of being a father, which made the idea of being a mother a little less scary.

Once he died, I didn’t trust my judgment enough to be a mother. Although it was hard to admit, I was easily manipulated by my first boyfriend, Albert. And while I vowed to never be so foolish again, I feared the pressures of being a single mother might lead to bad decisions. I had screw-up written all over me, and I wanted so much better for you.

I thought of all the times I’d watched Amelia. Before I even knew her, I’d thought she was the perfect woman. Everything I wanted to be. After getting to know her, I knew she’d be even more suited to provide you with everything I couldn’t. And I knew she was as desperate to raise a child as I was to find you a healthy home. If only she would agree to my request.

“Sometimes, when you know the adoptive parents, it makes things harder,” Amelia said. She looked at me, and this time I didn’t flinch under her gaze.

“That wouldn’t happen with us. I’ve not wavered on this decision once. I know I want Caroline to have a better life, and nothing would make me feel more secure than if you were the one to raise her.”

She wrapped her arms around me, and for several seconds we embraced and cried. I felt safe knowing I was leaving you in good hands. The best hands.

“I’ll need to talk with Bruce, of course,” she said. “And I’d have to talk to the agency, see what kind of legalities are involved.”

“We have time,” I said, both hands on my stomach. On you.

“And if at any point you change your mind—”

“I won’t,” I said, placing my hand on her arm. “I’ve never felt more sure about anything in my life.”

And that’s how it started.

33 MarionNow

I called Carmen and Des, begging them to come over. I didn’t want to wake Ava, and my nerves were too jumbled to drive.

These weren’t the results I was expecting. I’d anticipated a negative result. I’d predicted I’d spend the rest of the night crying, another few endless days sorrowing over this revelation. This was meant to be my final confirmation that everything I knew about my background was a lie. I’d thought the test would prove my mother—Eileen—was never my mother at all. But it didn’t. Which makes me wonder what the basis of these charges really is.

Carmen walks into the living room first. I can tell I interrupted her nightly routine because she’s wearing no makeup and her hair is pulled away from her face. She looks like she hastily threw on a pair of sweats, but she’s still clutching a designer tote in her hand.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“I submitted a DNA test.”

“You did what?” She drops her bag on the sofa and takes a step closer, her hands on her hips. “After everything I’ve told you. I’ve tried to be understanding about what you’re going through, but you’re deliberately hurting Eileen’s case.”

Behind her, the front door opens. Des walks inside wearing cloth shorts and a hoodie. Her eyebrows are arched at Carmen’s yelling.

“What the hell is going on?” she asks, her stare ricocheting between us.

“Marion did the one thing I specifically told her not to do,” Carmen says. “She is trying to sabotage Eileen’s case—”

“Keep it down or you’ll wake Ava,” Des says, coming closer and sitting directly in front of me. Her tone sounds like she is gearing up for a lecture of her own. “Tell us what’s going on.”

“I submitted the test using Mom’s DNA,” I say, holding up the paper. “It’s a positive match. Eileen is my biological mother.”

Carmen’s anger doesn’t completely leave her face, but she now looks a bit unbalanced. As does Des. Like everyone, they assumed that any test would eventually prove Amelia was my biological mother, or at the very least, that Eileen wasn’t.

Carmen reaches for the paper.