Mark participated, “The hair of the phone is as if it weighs a hundred pounds as I called, and my fingers are harsh and unconfirmed. I didn’t care about the presence of almost midnight.” Welcome? “I answered a woman, her voice is nice but guarded.
“I’m sorry for the contact very late,” I started my voice look foreigner, as if someone else was talking. “My name is Mark. I found a picture of my wife, Emily, carrying a child … This number was written on his back.”
Silence extended so long that I started wondering whether she had been stuck. Then, quietly I almost did not hear it, I spoke. Oh, whispered. “Oh, Mark. I have been waiting for this invitation for years. It has been a long time since Emily arrived.”
“Emily died,” she came out. The words felt like ash in my mouth. “It was her funeral today.”
“I am very sorry,” she replied, her voice broke down raw sadness. “I am Sarah. I … adopted the daughter of Emily, Lily.”
The room seemed to tend, everything out of focus. I stick to the edge of the bed to prove myself. “Girl?”
“It was nineteen,” Sarah quietly explained. “A student in the college. She knew that she could not give the child the life she deserved. This was the most difficult decision she made ever.”
“We tried for years to have children,” she picked up, frustrated from his depths, and penetrated my sorrow. “Years of treatments, specialists and disappointment. Never have a word about having a front child. Never.”
“I was terrified,” Sarah answered her voice full of understanding. “Faraded that you will judge her, terrified you leave. I loved you so much, Mark. Sometimes, love makes us doing impossible things.”
I closed my eyes, the memories are overwhelmed. I remembered her tears during endless fertility treatments, and how she was pressing on my hand very tightly when we passed stadiums. I always thought that it was because we both strongly wanted a child. But now, with the stability of the truth around me, I began to wonder about the amount of this pain that was linked to the daughter that I have surrendered. “
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