“That’s why I didn’t pick up his call. It’s better if he thinks I’m asleep than knowing I’m sitting alone and flipping through my children’s photo album.”
“You aren’t alone,” I mutter.
She pauses and looks at me. Her face softens. “I’m not, now that you’re here.”
Discomfort pricks my skin, making me clear my throat and look away from her.
“Love only loves you.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think.
“Is that really what you think?”
I nod.
“That’s not true. He loves you.”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t need to assure me with a lie. I can handle the truth.”
Mom sets the photo album aside on her lap and reaches for another one. This one is old and worn, its front cover creased and the edges slightly torn as if it’s been opened and closed a million times.
Without a word, she flips it open. The first photograph shows a pregnancy test with two red lines; beneath it is a picture of my parents smiling at each other. My eyes move to the second page, where my dad is kneeling in front of my mom, kissing her stomach.
Page by page, she shows me a short reel of her pregnancy—each moment capturing how elated my father was, always smiling, always leaning down to kiss her belly.
Finally, we reach the part where they’re in the hospital. My mom is holding me in her arms, and my dad is kissing my forehead. There’s another photo where his fingers are gently brushing through my hair, and he’s looking at me like I’m his entire world. That look in his eyes is raw and captured candidly. There’s nothing fake or pretense about it.
“He has loved you even before you came into this world,” Mom says in a lovingly tone.
Something heavy sticks to my throat, making it hard to swallow those words.
“He was so happy when he found out that he was going to be a dad. And when he heard your heart beat for the first time he squeezed my hand so hard while staring at the screen.” She laughs a little. “He was always kissing my stomach or rubbing it to make sure you were okay inside. He may not say it, but he loves you so much.”
“Then why did he abandon me?” I mumble, my voice sounding broken.
She studies me closely. “We didn’t abandon you.”
A spark of anger lights up. “You sent me here while you were living in another country. What do you call that?”
Pain flickers across her face. “It’s complicated.”
My eyebrows dip. “What’s complicated?”
She breaks the eye contact. “Please know we didn’t do it because we don’t love you. It was something else.”
“I want to know it.” I push the matter.
Mom stands up abruptly. “It’s late. We should go to bed.”
“For fuck’s sake. How long are you going to hide this truth from me?!” I blurt. “For years I’ve wondered why my parents left me. I thought maybe I did something wrong and you guys didn’t want me — ”
“That’s not the truth!” Mom cries out. Her blue eyes filled with deep sorrows and locked secrets.
“Then, what is the fucking truth?”
She opens her mouth, and my chest tightens, thinking she’s finally going to give me the answer. But then, she closes it and turns her back on me. “All you need to know is, we did it to protect you.”
Air fills my lungs and I feel like I’d burst at any moment.
We did it to protect you.
