“I am your mother.”
“And I am his.”
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Then you hung up.
Your hands shook afterward.
Not with regret.With the shock of finally choosing yourself before they allowed it.
Two days later, Julian came to the hospital where you worked.
He did not make a scene. He waited in the public lobby by the coffee kiosk, wearing a gray coat and holding a small paper bag. You were twelve hours into a brutal ER shift, your feet aching, hair loose, scrubs marked with iodine from a trauma case.
When you saw him, you stopped.
He stood immediately.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This may be inappropriate. I just wanted to give something to Mateo.”
You looked at the bag.
“What is it?”
“A dinosaur book. I remembered he liked them. If you don’t want it, I understand.”
You took it slowly.
“Thank you.”
