Chapter 7 - OwenEmmett took my free hand. His fingers were trembling. "I was adopted. You know that."
I nodded.
"What you don't know is that six weeks ago, I got a DNA match." My eyes moved toward Marguerite. "She's my biological mother." I stared at him. "She's been trying to find me for almost thirty years." His voice broke. "And she's dying."
Everything inside me seemed to stop. "Hospice?"
He nodded. "The lawyer confirmed the DNA match right before your water broke."
I immediately thought about the laptop. "The late nights?"
"I was researching everything. I needed to know it was real."
"The envelope from the law firm?"
"They were helping confirm her identity."
"And the phone calls?"
"I didn't want to tell you until I knew for certain." His eyes filled again. "Then hospice called before the delivery. They told me that if I wanted to meet her, it had to happen now."
I looked at Marguerite. She seemed incredibly small in the wheelchair.
"She was two hours away," Emmett continued.
"Why did you leave without telling me?"
"I didn't know how." He wiped his face. "You had just given birth. Owen was on your chest. I couldn't stand there and tell you that I had found my biological mother and might lose her before the day was over."
I swallowed. "And the birth certificate?"
He glanced at Marguerite. "That's why I asked you to wait."
She slowly reached into the bag on her lap and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Her hand trembled as she held it toward me.
"She wanted to give our son a name," Emmett said.
I frowned. "What name?"
"Her father's."
I opened the folded paper. There was one word written there.
Owen.
For several seconds, I could only stare. Then I started laughing and crying at the same time. "That's the name we chose."
"I know," Emmett said.
Marguerite smiled through tears. "My father's name was Owen."
May you like
I looked down at my son. Suddenly the blank line didn't feel frightening anymore. I picked up the pen. And signed.
Owen.
