“Right.”
Neither of us mentioned it.
But he kept saying it.
Then, exactly two weeks later, Luke came to dinner and barely touched his meatloaf.
By the time the adoption was finalized, I had stopped waiting for him to become somebody else.
Then, exactly two weeks later, Luke came to dinner and barely touched his meatloaf.
That scared me more than it should have.
He loved meatloaf.
“Sweetheart?”
I reached across and touched his hand.
“I’m fine.”
“Terrible lie.”
His fork scraped his plate.
I reached across and touched his hand.
He was trembling.
“And you’ll probably wish you hadn’t adopted me.”
“Luke.”
He pulled away.
His eyes filled with tears.
“Mom, I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
My fork slipped from my fingers.
“And you’ll probably wish you hadn’t adopted me.”
My stomach dropped.
“Luke, what happened?”
He looked terrified.
Then he whispered, “I have a sister.”
“Your file said you didn’t have siblings placed with you.”
My fork slipped from my fingers.
“A sister?”
“Half-sister.”
“Your file said you didn’t have siblings placed with you.”
“She’s not placed with me.”
Luke told me they had entered care together years earlier, when Emma was still little.
“Where is she?”
Luke swallowed.
“She was adopted.”
Her name was Emma.
She was nine now.
He made her breakfast. Got her ready for school. Helped with homework.
Luke told me they had entered care together years earlier, when Emma was still little.
“I basically raised her,” he said.
He made her breakfast. Got her ready for school. Helped with homework. When she woke up scared, she went looking for him.
Then a family offered Emma a permanent home.
“They didn’t have room for me,” Luke said.
“I was fourteen. They kept asking what I thought was best for her.”
“Who told you that?”
