The complaint claimed my data had been fabricated and that sections of the project had been copied from confidential university documents.
Then another complaint appeared.
It described my decision to bring an “unrelated infant” onto campus as irresponsible conduct and suggested I was using the baby to manipulate faculty members.
The timing was not subtle.
The complaints arrived just as my project began moving through the review process.
Within days, my scholarship was frozen.
My graduation approval was marked pending.
My honor stole was reassigned.
Spencer told Gemma the university had finally discovered what I was really like.
Gemma repeated that line to Pamela.
Pamela called me into the kitchen and placed the investigation notice on the table between us.
She did not ask whether the accusation was true.
She did not ask what would happen to my degree.
She smiled.
“You should stay home,” she said. “Why humiliate yourself?”
Oliver was sleeping in a portable bassinet near the doorway.
Pamela looked toward him and lowered her voice.
“You have already given people enough to talk about.”
Three weeks earlier, I had found him outside Saint Teresa Clinic in a worn cardboard carrier.
The morning had been cool, and the carrier had been placed close to the side entrance where employees arrived before opening.
A hospital blanket was wrapped around him, and one corner had slipped away from his face.
He was not crying loudly.
That was what frightened me most.
His cries were thin and tired, more like small protests than the full voice of a healthy newborn.
I called for help, stayed beside him, and watched a nurse carry him inside.
Later, I learned that his mother had died from complications after giving birth.
No father had been identified.
No grandparents came forward.
The social worker assigned to his case explained that he would probably enter the foster-care system once he was medically cleared.
She said it gently, as though she were trying to prepare me for something unavoidable.
I looked down at Oliver’s hand curled around my finger and remembered the county office where adults had debated who would be forced to take me.
“No,” I said. “He’s coming home with me.”
