Having enlisted with an adoption agency, we were devastated to learn of the extremely long waitlist for a baby. Our hopes all but crushed. The likelihood of adopting a newbornanytime soon looked bleak. Elijah had all but given up hope, but I tried to stay optimistic.
Then, less than a year later, an unexpected opportunity appeared in the form of an eighteen-year-old girl. As it turned out, we shared more than just a passion for art; we shared something much deeper.
It’s the only secret I’ve ever kept from my husband. And it’s haunted me every day since.
“Is theresomething you’re interested in, princesa?” I asked, stretching my arm over her slender shoulders. She’d been eyeing me the entire time we’d been sketching a nude model.
She was incredibly attractive; smooth bronze skin, silky black hair cropped to her chin, and those megawatt green eyes that looked like pools of mint jelly. She appeared decent and wholesome. I was indecent and dirty.
My interest was immediately piqued.
Her stunning green eyes outshone my overplayed smile. “I’m interested in you,” she’d said, without a lick of hesitation. That in itself was a turn-on. I was a sucker for confidence.
I remember laughing and telling her, “I’m gay,” but in a flirtatious way.
She flirted back. “I know,” she replied, clearly not giving a fuck.
I run my fingers through my hair, tugging on thick strands as memories keep flooding in.
The Family Suiteat Bridgeport Hospital in Connecticut had the cozy feel of someone’s living room. Elijah and I had spent hoursthere, anxiously awaiting the arrival of our baby daughter. Stephania is the name we had chosen for her.
Elijah had been a bundle of nerves that day. It made me laugh; I’d never seen him so unsettled. He was always in control, taking on the likes of some of the most influential businessmen without breaking a sweat. But here, in this cozy, lived-in hospital room, he was vibrating with nerves.
Princesa… I remember him calling our baby girl the moment the nurse placed her in his arms.
Princesa—it’s what I’d called her mother, too, the very first time she was in my arms.
A vintage Polaroid camera hung from my neck, a wedding gift from Elijah. I’d been obsessed with snapping pictures of the doting father and our newborn daughter.
As we were leaving that afternoon, we passed by a window to a private room. The curtains were open, and a familiar face sat at the edge of an unmade bed. A flimsy hospital gown clung to her body, and dark hair flopped over her exotic face. She was in her own world, carving something into an orange plastic lunch tray.
I remember smiling, intrigued by her creativity—making art out of something so simple. It was something I would have done too.
Without a second thought, I raised the camera to my face, framing her image into my gifted view. She looked up just as I pressed the shutter.
Her smile came a moment later.
Strange—not one I recognized. Still beautiful… just different. Then again, she’d just given birth. Who was I to judge? I lowered the camera and returned her smile with one of my own.
A secret smile.
“Mr. Garcia!” a nurse called out as Elijah and I were walking away. “I have something for you.”
I stopped. She dropped an orange puzzle piece into my hand. Elijah looked, shrugged, and kept walking. I did the same, slipping the piece of plastic into my coat pocket, alongside the photo of Mimi.
BEEP…BEEEEP…
The blare of a horn snaps me out of my trip down memory lane. Steven is pulling away from the curb, Ana waving enthusiastically through the open window. She can’t actually see me—but she knows I’m watching.
I always am.
I watch all of my treasures.
Andsheis my treasure.
37
ELIJAH
