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The young woman’s hands trembled as she wrung the corner of her apron. “I’m sorry about before,” she began. “Truly, I am. But that’s not why I came out.”
For a second, I forgot how to breathe. “No,” I said finally. “My daughter adopted him. She and her husband passed last year. I’m raising him now.”
Her eyes filled before I even finished.
“Is his birthday September 11th?” she asked.
I felt something cold crawl up my spine. “Yes. How did you—?”
She covered her mouth, tears spilling fast. “I had a baby boy that day. I was nineteen. I didn’t have anyone. I signed the papers because I thought he deserved better. I’ve regretted it every day since.”
Her words came out in pieces, raw and trembling. “I’m not trying to take him. I just… when he pointed out the mark, I knew. I had to ask.”
Through the glass, Ben was fogging the window and drawing a heart with his finger. His small, perfect heart.
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