“The boy in the photograph came to the hospital.”
My heart skipped.
“What happened?”
“He was looking for Teagan. He saw you leaving with Lucas and became overwhelmed. He left before speaking to you.”
I stared at her.
“You knew this all these years?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“You were protecting yourself from making a difficult decision.”
She nodded.
“I know that now.”
For the first time, I understood that the story I had told myself for ten years might never have been the complete story.
I searched through Teagan’s old belongings that evening.
Inside a storage box, I found photographs, school papers, and a torn notebook page.
There were simple notes written in Teagan’s handwriting:
Buy diapers.
Finish thank-you cards.
Ask Mom about night classes.
Tell Mom.
Tell Mom.
She had been making plans.
She had expected there would be time.
