right choice was also the good choice.
Sending you some sugar,
Calpurnia
Becca folded my letter back along the well-worn creases and wiped the corners of her eyes.
“When I told my mom I was pregnant, she was totally calm and super understanding, at least at first. Mom is a big believer in a woman’s right to choose. Well . . .” Becca gave a small, sad shrug. “As long as the choice doesn’t include her daughter becoming an unwed mother. She kept saying, ‘Why would you put yourself, put us, through that? A quick procedure and it’s over and done with and you go on with your life. It’ll be like it never happened.’”
Becca gave her head a hard shake. “But I knew it wouldn’t be like that, not for me. I don’t know about other people, but for me, having the baby was the right choice, the only choice. That’s what I told my parents.”
She paused and let out a breath.
“They were so, so mad. They said I was going to ruin my life. They said I was being stupid and selfish. They even accused me of getting pregnant on purpose, trying to get their attention.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Please. Like I hadn’t given up on that years ago.”
Becca lowered her eyes, looking at her hands and the letter that was still clutched in her fingers. “Whenever they told me I was being dumb and self-centered, whenever they made me doubt myself, I would read what you wrote, the part about me being strong and capable and you having faith in me.”
She looked up. Tears spilled over onto her cheeks. By that time, I was crying too.
“It was like you were right there with me, Celia, cheering me on. You gave me courage to make my choice and stick with it.”
“I’m glad,” I said hoarsely.
I was. But I knew what was coming. It felt like my heart was about to crack. Becca swiped away tears with the back of her hand.
“When Anne said that one of the ‘Dear Birth Mother’ letters was from you, I just . . . I couldn’t believe it. It felt like a sign, you know? Like confirmation that I was doing the right thing.”
I mirrored her nod. But as I knew only too well, signs don’t always mean what you think they do.
“My parents wanted to go with one of the other families,” Becca said, “because they had more money. I said that I’d meet them, just to make Mom and Dad happy, but I was sure you would be a good mother. And then, after I met you, saw your house, your neighborhood, your cousin and his crazy dogs . . .” She smiled momentarily. “I knew it was true. You would be an amazing mom, Celia. The best.
“But then . . . After last night, after I saw the baby, and held her . . . I just . . .” Becca’s voice was shaking. She paused, tried to catch her breath, to find words, failed, and sobbed, covering her face with her hands. “I’m sorry, Celia. I’m so, so sorry. I thought I could do it. I know it’s not fair but . . . I can’t,” she gasped. “I just can’t.”
I don’t remember standing up. But somehow, there I was, standing by the bed, wrapping my arms around the girl’s bowed, shaking shoulders, saying the only thing there was to say.
“I know, Becca. I know.”
CALVIN WAS WAITING for me.
His eyes were red and puffy, so I knew he’d already guessed what had happened, and that was a relief. I didn’t want to say it out loud, to explain that Becca was keeping her baby, and that Peaches wouldn’t be coming home with me, and that the last six months of my life had been a waste of time, money, and dreams, a heartbreaking and cosmically cruel joke.
Calvin opened his arms. I stumbled forward and practically fell into his embrace. If Calvin hadn’t been supporting me, I might have melted like candle wax, slipped slowly to the floor, and never gotten up again.
I’d never felt so tired, so defeated, so hopeless.
That morning, and the one before that, and the one before that, in a succession that seemed like it stretched back further than my remembering, the only thing that had gotten me up in the morning and through the days was the hope of this day, the day I would carry my daughter home in my arms.
And now?
“What am I going