“I can’t believe there are so many,” he states in mild shock at the pile.
“They’ve written me a couple times a year since he was born. She knew I was having a very difficult time with my decision and promised, mom to mom, that she’d give our son the best life possible, and she’d document it every step of the way for me. I couldn’t open them when they came, but every time one arrived, a sense of relief would flood me, and I knew he was doing well. That’s all I needed to know then.”
“I’m glad you waited for me.”
A tear slips from my eye. “Me too.”
He leans over to wipe my cheek before looking back at the pile. “Let’s start from the beginning.” He smiles as his eyes light up. “Let’s watch him grow up.”
My heart hurts from the thought. It breaks knowing I’ve missed so much, but I feel it slowly repairing with every breath I take sitting here with Carter.
The first letter comes a month after he was born, and it’s here that he learns his full name, Benjamin Carter Adams.
“His middle name is Carter?” He looks at me in shock.
“They wanted him to have something tied to me in terms of his name, so I asked them to choose Carter as his middle name,” I say, not stopping the tears this time.
He grabs the letter and folds it open to reveal a picture of a baby boy dressed in a San Francisco Giants onesie that says Future MVP. Carter’s head falls back on the couch, and even though his eyes are closed, the wetness seeping out makes my tears fall even more.
“That’s our baby, Carter. We made him.”
He opens his eyes, letting the tears fall down his cheeks. “I can’t believe it. That’s our son.”
I lean back, cuddling in his arms as he holds up the picture for us both to look at. “It is. Our miracle.”
I grab the next one. “Look, he’s sitting up and eating baby food in this photo.”
We both laugh at the happy boy with green mush smeared all over his face.
When we opened the letter that showed him taking his first steps we both cried happy tears, admiring the photo of Benjamin running toward his father. The look on his dad’s face heals the wounds I never thought would be mended. In every photo his adoptive parents are in, they look incredibly happy holding the gift of life that we were able to give them. The thought makes my heart sing.
We spend the night going through each letter, both of us crying at times and other times smiling from ear to ear as we hear his accomplishments. We’ve learned he’s a straight A student, which he obviously got from Carter, and he likes to stir up trouble from time to time, which no doubt he got from me. He’s a perfect blend of us in personality and looks, and at the end of the night, I couldn’t be more proud of the young man he’s become.
As we fold the last letter back into the envelope, a nervousness creeps over my skin as I wonder what happens next.
Thankfully, Carter takes charge, pulling me into his arms, not saying a word but taking the photos we set off to the side and flipping through them one more time.
We laugh at certain ones and even point out things we didn’t notice the first time.
There’s no rush. We sit staring at photos, holding each other like we have all the time in the world.
Once we get to the last photo again, he puts the stack down beside him, resting his head against mine as we lean back on the couch.
After taking a deep breath, he says, “Well, it’s late, so I guess I’ll head out.”
He stands up, and I follow his lead.
“Oh, it’s okay. Um, I mean—”
“Hey.” He turns to me, placing his hand on the back of my neck and wrapping his fingers through my hair. “I don’t want you to feel pressured having me here and worried about what happens next. We have time. It’s been a big night. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Hearing how supportive he’s being of me makes me want him to stay, but I know he’s right. We’ve had a crazy emotional night, and we shouldn’t confuse our feelings with what we just shared and what we are doing with us.
One thing at a time.
I lean up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Carter.”
He holds my head in both his hands, looking into my eyes. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to kiss you.” He smirks as his lips reach mine.
His kiss is soft, seductive, and mind-blowing. The way his tongue softly sweeps over mine, taking my breath completely away, almost brings me to my knees. To my dismay, he keeps it short, pulling back and kissing my forehead before turning toward the door.
“Thank you for sharing those with me. It”—he pauses for a moment—“it really means a lot.”
He opens the door, and I hold it halfway open, leaning my body against it. “Me too.”
Something red catches my eyes, and I look down at the floor to see a dozen roses, wrapped tightly in plastic wrap. I look at Carter in question, but he shakes his head. Both of us realize at the same time who they must have come from.
Cole.
