Then I found another photograph of the young man.
Underneath it was his first name.
That was enough to begin searching.
Eventually, I found him.
I sent a simple message.
“My name is Elizabeth. I’m Teagan’s mother. I need to speak with you.”
His reply arrived a few hours later.
“Lucas?”
I stared at the screen.
He remembered.
We met the next morning.
He was no longer the teenager from the photograph. He was an adult carrying years of regret.
“You knew about Lucas,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come?”
“I was afraid.”
“You came to the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you stay?”
He looked down.
“My family told me I wasn’t ready. They said having a child would change everything I had planned. I listened to them.”
“And afterward?”
“I kept telling myself I had waited too long. Then another year passed. Then another.”
