**Part 2**
“You had this for ten years.”
Trudy was waiting in a booth near the back of a small diner.
I put the photograph between us.
“You took care of Teagan?”
“For part of that day.”
“Then why did she give you the letter?”
“You took care of Teagan?”
“She was scared. She didn’t think she was going to die, Elizabeth. She was eighteen and about to give birth.”
That mattered. Teagan hadn’t predicted her death. She had simply been scared.
My girl.
Trudy continued.
“She told me if something went wrong and he didn’t come, I should give the letter to you.”
Teagan hadn’t predicted her death.
I tapped the photograph.
“Is this him?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“Then what do you know?”
Trudy swallowed.
“He came.”
“I don’t know his name.”
I froze.
“What?”
“After Teagan died, I saw a young man near the maternity floor asking for her.”
“You spoke to him?”
“No. I didn’t realize who he was until I looked at him properly. He matched Teagan’s description.”
My pulse started pounding.
“You spoke to him?”
“When I realized who he might be, he saw you.”
“Doing what?”
“Leaving with Lucas.”
“And?”
“He left.”
“You watched him walk away?”
“When I realized who he might be, he saw you.”
“Yes.”
“And then you kept my daughter’s letter?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I told myself you had enough grief.”
“You decided that for me.”
“Yes.”
“I told myself you had enough grief.”
“You decided it for my grandson.”
“Yes.”
My anger went cold.
“So why now?”
Trudy looked down.
“I retired months ago. Once I stopped telling myself I was still protecting a patient, I had to admit I was protecting myself.”
“So why now?”
I stood.
“Ten years is a long time to hide behind one bad decision.”
I left before she could say anything else.
The next afternoon, I pulled Teagan’s old storage box from my closet.
I hadn’t opened it in years.
Inside were school programs, photographs, and the cheap silver bracelet she always wore.
“Ten years is a long time to hide behind one bad decision.”
Then I found another photograph of the same boy.
Same glove.
Underneath it was a torn notebook page.
Buy diapers.
Finish thank-you cards.
Ask Mom about night classes.
Tell Mom.
Tell Mom.
She had planned to. She thought there would be time.
Same glove.
“Grandma?”
Lucas stood in the doorway.
He saw the open box and sat beside me.
“Is that Mom’s stuff?”
“Yes.”
I handed him a school photo.
“Grandma?”
He smiled.
“I look like her.”
“You have her eyebrows. And her nose.”
Then he noticed the boy’s photograph.
“Who’s that?”
“Nobody.”
“You have her eyebrows. And her nose.”
The answer came too fast.
Lucas frowned.
“Then why did Mom keep his picture?”
“That lady told you something, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“About my dad?”
“Then why did Mom keep his picture?”
“I’m trying to understand it first. When I do, I’ll tell you.”
“You always tell me not to hide stuff because I’m scared.”
“I do.”
“So are you hiding stuff?”
“Yes.”
He looked at the photograph again.
“So are you hiding stuff?”
“I need a little time,” I said. “But I won’t leave you wondering forever.”
He nodded.
Not happily.
But he nodded.
And now I had no excuse not to act.
“But I won’t leave you wondering forever.”
An old class photo in the program had his first name beneath it. After several wrong profiles, I found him.
I sent one message.
“My name is Elizabeth. I’m Teagan’s mother. I need to speak with you.”
His reply came two hours later.
“Lucas?”
One word.
He knew the name.
“I’m Teagan’s mother. I need to speak with you.”
We met the next morning.
He was already seated, turning his coffee cup in small circles just as he had at my kitchen table ten years earlier.
“You knew his name,” I said.
“Teagan told me.”
“Then you knew about him.”
“Teagan told me.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come?”
“I did.”
I stared at him.
“I came to the hospital.”
Trudy’s words rushed back.
“Why didn’t you come?”
“You were there.”
He nodded.
“My parents wanted me to stay away. They thought a baby would ruin everything I’d planned.”
“And what did you think?”
“I was scared. I loved Teagan, but I let everybody else tell me what my life should be.”
“That explains eighteen, not ten years.”
“You were there.”
He looked down.
“Teagan told me not to come back until I was willing to choose for myself. I finally did.”
“After she died.”
“I didn’t know she was dead when I left home.”
“But you found out at the hospital?”
“I didn’t know she was dead when I left home.”
“Yes.”
“And you saw me carrying Lucas.”
He wiped his face.
“I panicked.”
“What about the next day?”
Silence.
“I panicked.”
“The next week?”
He couldn’t look at me.
“The next year?”
“You weren’t eighteen for ten years.”
“I kept telling myself I’d waited too long.”
“The next year?”
“And every year made that excuse easier.”
“Yes.”
I believed him. It didn’t excuse him.
“Does Lucas know about me?”
“He knows his father exists.”
“Can I see him?”
“Does Lucas know about me?”
“No.”
His head lifted.
“I’m his father.”
“You are the man who fathered him. What happens next depends on what you do now.”
He swallowed.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I’m his father.”
“Write him a letter.”
“A letter?”
“Tell him who you are. Tell him why you weren’t there. Tell him why you’re here now.”
He nodded.
“And don’t blame Teagan.”
“I won’t.”
“Write him a letter.”
“You don’t get credit for showing up ten years late. But you do get a chance to decide what kind of man you’re going to be now.”
