Driving to my parents, I’m silently shaking my head that any of this holds much truth. All this time, how can this be? Could they have known all of this time? Why? It makes no sense.
I walk right in without even knocking, I’m shouting my parents’ names, as I sprint through the house looking for them. Micah hasn’t said a word since we left our house, a part of me wanted to come alone to get my answers, but I needed him here. This concerns him as well.
“Mother!”
“Dad!”
No answer.
“Jesus Christ, where are they?” I shout again a few more times, this time I go straight to their room. Knowing my mother, I know where she most likely keeps things. Her private things, she stores in her closet in a box way in the back. Funny how I seem to do the exact same thing.
Finding the black velvet box, I’m afraid to open it. I’m afraid what I’ll find. My hands shake as I slide the box between my legs. Taking a breath, I look over my shoulder to Micah, who slowly sinks to his knees behind me.
My hands shake, my breath halts. “Well, let’s see if there are any secrets in here.”
I only get a faint head nod from him. His eyes tear up, not knowing what I might uncover. Cautiously lifting the lid, it has blue tissue paper covering it. It seems my mother keeps her things neatly stored.
Moving the tissue back, I notice the stack of envelopes, and my heart plummets. I’m hesitantly moving the tissue back careful not to rip it. Sure enough, I see the name I feared I would find. Sometimes, it hurts even more to be right. At the moment I wanted to be wrong. But I was disappointed once again, knowing what I may uncover makes my heart skip a beat or two.
“Carla Mitchell,” I say thumbing through every last one. “They are all from Carla Mitchell.” I’m in total disbelief.
I say it, but don’t even look back at Micah, because he knows it as well. We both realize what I’m about to uncover.
I look at the dates on the envelopes, praying they don’t date back to around four years ago, but to my astonishment they do. Somber filled tears stream down my cheeks. The letters are in order from newest to oldest. I slowly read the dates, feeling sick. I feel betrayed and downright lied to. At the bottom of the box is a thicker letter that catches my immediate attention. It reads Contract.
What the hell?
Holding the letter so Micah can get a better look, he reads the words, wondering what they mean. I don’t wait, I open the damn thing. Scanning the document it looks legal, it has names, dates and oh my God!
NO!
NO!
NO!
How could they?
My fingers freeze and I’m holding this piece of paper in an iron grip. Seething mad, idle threats escape my lips as I read the details word for hurtful word. Said minor Elsa Winters is willingly giving said child to Mark and Carla Mitchell for adoption. Reading further, I’m morbidly stricken to find out my parents got compensation for the adoption. I’m definitely going to throw up. I’m frantically trying to comprehend that they took payment for my child. The document is notarized, but no mention of a lawyer or Catholic Charities is ever mentioned. Hell, I’m not sure this thing is even legal. As I toss the papers to the floor, Micah is quick to pick them up reading them. He’s not saying one word and the fact he is dead silent terrifies me. I’d rather have him screaming or throwing my mom’s shoes. That way I’d know what he was thinking or feeling right now.
Rocking from side to side, my tears slide faster, when I hear the first sob escape Micah’s throat. How is it even possible? My parents lied to me all this time, never saying one word to me. They’ve been getting letters and pictures of a child they never wanted a thing to do with from day one. They treated me so poorly, and what’s worse is they made MONEY off of me!
Nauseated and weak I say, “They got paid twenty-five thousand dollars for my son. How the hell could they?” Dropping the last page I can’t help feeling numb.
“I’ve got no clue, but I will find out answers. They will explain themselves.” Rubbing my shoulders, Micah lets out an uneasy sigh. “While digging in your past Tyler found the name Carla Mitchell. He never found a trace that led back to Catholic Charities anywhere. I just wanted to make sure before I said a word to you.” He slowly lays his head on my back, and I understand why he would want to make sure before he said a word to me. He’d never want to upset me unless he absolutely had to.
Micah explained that he found this out right before her scheduled install appointment. It’s the reason he never asked her to find a new security company. He needed to make sure it was indeed this Carla Mitchell, who had our son. The same Carla Mitchell, who was so called friends with my parents.
What a small fucking world.
We hear a noise coming from downstairs, we go meet my parents in the kitchen their hands full of groceries.
“Well hello,” my mom says before her eyes go wide. “Oh, Micah you're here, too?”
“That I am.” He says with obvious distaste.
I’m holding my mother’s box containing the letters and photos. As her eyes focus on the box, she drops her bags of groceries. My dad curses, looking at the broken spaghetti sauce, not at what I’m holding in my hands. Taking a minute to try and regain her composure, my mother cautiously raises her eyes to see me glaring back at her. Without words, I’m mentally asking my mom how she could do this. To me, her daughter. Turning back to look at Micah, his arms are crossed, and I swear his are pressed together so tightly, they are turning white.
“Well, I see we need to talk.” My dad finally acknowledges my angry stare, now that my focus is centered on him.
“I’m all ears,” I say trembling.
“What do you know?” He asks all rational and reasonable like.
“Enough, why don’t you start from the beginning?” Both Micah and I say for a lack of better words. My dad realizes he not only needs to answer to me, he needs to answer to Micah, as well.
“Let's go and sit in the living room.” My dad says as he ushers his hand to lead the way.
My parents are on the couch looking uncomfortable. Micah, and I sit in the newly upholstered loveseat. It’s the perfect place to sit since it’s directly across from them. My leg bounces so violently, Micah has to put his hand on my knee to contain it. I never put the box down, I just hold it.
“We wanted to tell you, your mother and I. It just got too hard, and we were so disappointed in you.” My dad says with such lack of authority, he’s totally withdrawn. His words are shallow and empty.
My mom sits, crying and fidgeting with the hem of her dress. Her eyes are everywhere but on me. My dad continues to tell his story of how my aunt Peggy had a friend of a friend who was desperate to adopt a child, the only problem was the agencies said it could take years to find a suitable child. My aunt, to my utter shock, facilitated this partnership with my parents. It was never even legal. The Mitchell’s had a criminal record, so they never stood a chance at getting a child through the legal channels. Some sort of felony fraud crime that would have stopped any chance they ever had of adopting a child.
My parents overlooked that important, fine detail. I think they felt overjoyed finding a solution to my problem, no their problem. Much to their surprise Carla insisted on sending pictures and letters, letting my parents know how grateful she and her husband were.
“The money. Why the money?” I can’t wrap my head around the fact they profited from it.
“We felt they should have to pay something, and decided we could set it aside for you, Elsa. We just didn’t know how to give it to you without an explanation as to where it came from. To be honest, we thought it would be wiser to make sure he went to college, instead. The Mitchell’s don’t know this, but it’s another reason we liked being in contact with them. It’s a way to make sure we know he’s doing okay and then someday, we could help pay for his education.” My mom’s lost her mind. She’s smiling like this is good news!