Freed (Fifty Shades as Told by Christian #3) - E.L. James Page 0,263

whisper.

She stands and takes my hand. “There’s no reason why you should. It felt like forever for us, because we wanted you so badly, but it was only two months. We’d already been approved to adopt, thank goodness. Otherwise, the process could have been longer.”

“Here,” Carrick says. “It must be harrowing not knowing, but I have a few things from that time for you. Maybe they might help you remember.” From inside his jacket he produces a large envelope. I sit down at my desk, steel myself, and open it. Inside I find a résumé for Mr. and Mrs. Collier and details about their family, a daughter and two sons. Several letters, and two drawings…my drawings?

I gaze down at them, and my scalp tingles with a sense of wonder.

Both pictures are in crayon. They’re a scrawled child’s view of a house with a yellow door. There are stick figures: two adults, five siblings.

The sun shines over them all. Huge. Bright.

The second picture is similar, but all the children are holding what look like sugar cones with ice cream.

It appears happy enough.

“We had reports on you every week from them. And we visited. Every weekend.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Grace and Carrick exchange a look.

“It never came up, son.” Carrick’s jaw tightens, his voice quiet with remorse, I think, as he shrugs. “We wanted you to forget, about all…” He trails off.

I nod. I get it.

Forget about my life with the crack whore.

Forget about her pimp.

Forget about my life before them.

I don’t blame them. I’d like to forget.

Why would anyone want to remember that?

“I hope this helps with some of your questions,” he says.

“It does. I’m glad I called you. It was Ana’s idea.”

Carrick smiles. “She’s one brave woman, Christian.” He glances once more at Grace. She nods, and it looks like she’s giving him permission. He hands me another envelope.

With a puzzled look at both of them, I open it. Inside is a birth certificate.

STATE OF MICHIGAN

CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH

State file number: 121-83-757899

Date filed: June 29, 1983

Child’s Name (First, Middle, Last, Suffix): Kristian Pusztai

Date of Birth: June 18, 1983

Gender: Male

Child’s Birthplace: Detroit, Wayne County

Mother’s Name Before First Married: Életke Pusztai

Mother’s Age: 19

Mother’s Birthplace: Budapest, Hungary

Fathers Name: Unknown

Father’s Age: Unknown

Father’s Birthplace: Unknown

I hereby certify that the above is a true and correct representation of the birth facts on file with the Division for Vital Records, Michigan Department of Community Health.

Kristian! A tremor runs up my spine. My name!

And the crack whore! She has a name.

From nowhere I hear her pimp asshole shouting. “Ella!”

Ella…short for Életke.

His usual epithet was bitch.

I shake off the thought.

“Why are you giving this to me now?” My voice is hoarse as I gaze at my parents.

“I found it with the letters and the drawings. In Mrs. Collier’s letters she calls you Christian with a K. So, if you wondered…” My mother’s voice trails off.

“Why did you change the spelling?”

“Because you are a gift. To us. From God.”

I stare at her. Stupefied. A gift? Me? All the shit I gave the two people standing in front of me, and this is what they think?

“We felt we owed Him. You’ve always been a gift, Christian,” Carrick murmurs.

Tears pinch the back of my eyes and I take a deep breath.

A gift.

“Children are a gift. Always.” Grace’s maternal adoration is plain in her glistening eyes, and I know what she’s left unsaid—that I’ll find this out for myself, in a few months. Leaning over, she smooths my hair off my forehead. I return her smile and, standing, pull her into my arms.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You’re welcome, son.”

Carrick hugs us both.

I close my eyes, and fighting back my tears, I accept it.

Unconditional love.

From my parents.

As it should be.

Enough. I pull away. “I’ll read the letters later.” My voice is gruff with emotion.

“Okay.”

“We should get back to the others,” I mutter.

“Have you remembered anything?” Carrick asks.

I shake my head.

“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t, but don’t sweat it, son. You have us. You have your family. And like your mother says, the Colliers were good people.” Gently, he squeezes my arm, his warmth and affection radiating through my body.

We head back into the main living room, but I’m moving in slow motion, disconnected from my reality, my head ready to explode with all these revelations. I scan the room for Ana; she’s standing with Elliot and Kate at the kitchen counter, eating some canapés.

From somewhere deep in my brain, the part that stores my earliest memories, comes a fragment—a vision of a family gathered around a