“I was 19. My parents said keeping you would ruin everything. They decided for me—but I’m the one who walked away from that basket. After you were born, they hid me at my aunt’s house across the street.”
“I’m the one who walked away from that basket.”
I remembered the old woman who used to live across the street. She had moved away when Isabelle was three. I didn’t remember seeing Kara.
“My aunt told me a doctor lived here, and that he was single. She said you were a good man, Michael. I thought it was the only solution. I knew my baby would be safe here,” Kara continued.
“You left me on the porch,” Isabelle said.
Kara nodded, her hands trembling.
“You left me on the porch.”
“I thought it was for your own good. I was so afraid. Then I ran away. I changed my name and moved. I buried everything. When my aunt moved, there was no reason to come back.”
I looked at Kara, anger and grief clashing inside me. “You left her on my doorstep. Do you understand how cruel that is?”
She met my gaze. “I do.”
Isabelle stood up, pushing her chair back. “Do you know how many times I imagined my mother?”
“I didn’t know it was you.”
Kara stood too, wiping her face. “I’m sorry. I was a coward.”
The silence felt like it could split the house in two.
None of us slept that night.
Morning came. My daughter was in the kitchen, setting out cups. She slid a cup of tea toward me.
None of us slept that night.
“Dad, I need to see her. Alone,” Isabelle said softly.
I nodded, my heart pounding. “I’ll wait upstairs. If you need anything, just call me, sweetheart.”
