A month later, he called me Mom by accident.
“Mom, have you seen my charger?”
We both froze.
Luke turned bright red.
Neither of us mentioned it.
I pretended to search a drawer while hiding a tear.
“Kitchen counter.”
“Right.”
Neither of us mentioned it.
But he kept saying it.
Then, exactly two weeks later, Luke came to dinner and barely touched his meatloaf.
By the time the adoption was finalized, I had stopped waiting for him to become somebody else.
Then, exactly two weeks later, Luke came to dinner and barely touched his meatloaf.
That scared me more than it should have.
He loved meatloaf.
“Sweetheart?”
I reached across and touched his hand.
“I’m fine.”
“Terrible lie.”
His fork scraped his plate.
I reached across and touched his hand.
He was trembling.
“And you’ll probably wish you hadn’t adopted me.”
“Luke.”
He pulled away.
His eyes filled with tears.
“Mom, I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
My fork slipped from my fingers.
“And you’ll probably wish you hadn’t adopted me.”
My stomach dropped.
“Luke, what happened?”
He looked terrified.
