“She’s in a coma.”
His eyes closed, guilt overwhelming him. Tears ran down his cheeks.
His eyes flickered open.
I pulled a tissue from my bag and wiped his face.
“Leo… where did you find her?”
“I met her at the community center,” he said slowly. “The one near my campus. I’ve been volunteering there after classes.”
I nodded, waiting.
“She came in a few weeks ago. Didn’t talk much at first. But she kept coming back.”
His voice steadied a little.
“I don’t know why, but I found myself gravitating toward her, like an invisible force made me want to talk to her.”
“Leo… where did you find her?”
“Our bond started slowly. She doesn’t trust people. It probably has something to do with her background. She doesn’t have anyone, Mom. No family. No real place to go. Just that locket.”
I felt my heartbeat in my throat.
“She is trying to figure out who she is. She said the locket is the only thing she’s had her whole life.”
Leo studied my face.
“She doesn’t trust people.”
“Mom, after weeks, she showed me the photo in the locket. The woman in it looked like you when you were younger, so I thought you might know who she is,” he said quietly. “I thought you could help lead Elena somewhere.”
Elena.
He said her name as if he were talking about a dear friend.
It was clear that she mattered to him.
“I thought you could help.”
I sat back, exhaled slowly, and closed my eyes.
There was no point in holding it in anymore.
“Leo…” My voice shook before I could steady it. “There’s something I should’ve told you a long time ago.”
He winced when he moved to adjust himself. “What?”
I looked at him, and for a moment, I saw my little boy again.
I should’ve told him then.
But I didn’t.
I sat back, exhaled slowly.
“I got pregnant when I was a teenager,” I said.
The words hung in the air between us.
Leo didn’t react. He just stared at me.
“I was still in high school, and my parents, your grandparents… they were strict. They are different and more liberal now, but back then, they were very religious. They wouldn’t even consider abortion. So I carried the baby.”
My hands were shaking. I pressed them together to stop it.
Leo didn’t react.
“I didn’t have a say. They told me that I’d be homeschooled for a year. Then, when I gave birth, someone from our church would adopt her, and I’d continue with school. Any deviation from the plan, they would kick me out.”
Leo’s brow tightened. “Her?”
I nodded.
“I gave birth to a daughter. Her father, my then-boyfriend, never knew. I never returned to the same school to avoid rumors.”
Silence filled the room.
“I didn’t have a say.”
Machines beeped steadily beside him.
I forced myself to keep going.
“I wasn’t ready to be a parent and was scared. So my parents handled everything. They took her away the same day she was born.”
Leo’s face changed slowly. He looked confused at first, then something deeper.
“Why did you never tell me?”
I shook my head. “I couldn’t. Every time I tried… it felt like opening something I didn’t know how to close.”
“And you never saw her again?”
“No.”
“I wasn’t ready to be a parent.”
“I remember your Grandma taking a photo of the baby and me,” I added. “I was crying, feeling miserable and sore. I didn’t even know she kept it or passed it on. I didn’t think anyone did.”
Leo stared past me, as if he were finally putting pieces together in his head.
“Elena…” he said under his breath.
I nodded slowly.
“So she’s…” He stopped, then tried again.
“She’s my sister?”
The word landed hard between us.
“I was crying.”
“Yes.”
Leo turned his head slightly, staring at the ceiling.
For a moment, I thought he was going to shut down or get angry.
Instead, he let out a quiet laugh, one that didn’t carry any humor.
“Elena kept saying she felt as if she didn’t belong anywhere,” he murmured. “But somehow found it safe and comforting to talk to a child.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
He let out a quiet laugh.
“All she had was that locket,” Leo continued. “She told me her adoptive parents dropped her at an orphanage when she was little. No papers. No names. Just that.”
I felt my eyes become teary again. The guilt and shame were stifling me again.
“She’s been moving around ever since she was old enough to be on her own, trying to figure out who she is and where she came from.”
I looked down at my hands.
All those years…
And she was out there.
Looking.
“All she had was that locket.”
My son turned to face me.
“You should go check on her.”
I froze.
“I don’t think I can,” I admitted, my instinct for flight kicking in.
“You can and you should, Mom,” he said more firmly this time. “She deserves to know. This might be the last time you get to talk to her. There’s no guarantee that she’ll come out of that coma.”
I didn’t answer right away.
Because he was right.
And that’s what made it harder.
“I don’t think I can.”
I stood slowly, my legs still unsteady.
“I’ll… try,” I said.
A part of me was in awe of the magnificent young man I’d brought up, so young, but already so wise.
And even as the words left my mouth, I knew there was no more running from this.
***
The hallway outside Elena’s room was quiet.
I stopped just before the door, my hand hovering over the handle.
For a second, I thought about turning back.
A part of me was in awe.
I thought of pretending I’d never opened that locket.
But I couldn’t.
Not anymore.
So I sighed… and pushed the door open.
The room was dim. Machines hummed softly. And there she was.
Elena.
She looked younger than I expected. Pale. Still. Her hair spread across the pillow.
I just stood there, looking at her face.
Something about her felt… known.
Like a memory I never let myself keep.
There she was.
I pulled the chair closer and sat down beside her bed.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I said quietly.
I glanced at her again. No movement.
So I kept going.
“I didn’t know where you were taken,” I admitted. “My parents handled everything. They told me it was done, that you’d have a good life, and that I needed to move on.”
I let out a small breath.
“My parents handled everything.”
“I tried to ask questions when I was a little older, but they shut it down every time. I didn’t even know your name.”
That part still felt like an excuse, even then.
“I tried looking for you years later. I made calls, looked into records, but there was nothing. No trail. And then time passed, and I told myself… that you were okay somewhere.”
My eyes burned.
“I told myself that was enough.”
“I didn’t even know your name.”
I leaned forward.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “For all of it. For not fighting harder and not finding you.”
The words came easier then.
“I don’t even know if you’ll want to see me when you wake up. But I am here now.”
I reached out, hesitating just before I touched her hand.
Then I did.
It was warm.
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