I opened the door.
A beautiful, fawn-skinned woman in her early fifties stood there staring at me. She had dark brown hair and light brown eyes.
My mother.
Karena Townsend.
I could barely breathe. I could not believe I was standing there looking at my mother. The woman I had imagined a thousand different ways in my head. The woman I had wondered about for years. The woman whose face I had searched for in crowds without even realizing it. I could seesome of my features in hers, small traces that made something twist painfully inside me, but I saw nothing of myself in the man standing next to her. He was tall, and his green eyes narrowed at me in a way that immediately made me uneasy. A sly smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and something about it made my stomach tighten.
I smiled at both of them, trying to appear warmer and calmer than I felt. Other than the slight curling of my mother’s lips, I got very little in return. There was an immediate stiffness in the air, something formal and restrained, as they walked past me into the living room after a subdued greeting. I closed the door behind them and tried to ignore the sinking feeling growing in my chest.
After quick introductions, drinks, and appetizers were handed around, the anxiety in the room only seemed to increase, making it heavy and inescapable. Small talk about the weather, their flight, and their hotel experience took up half an hour, with me doing most of the asking and carrying almost the entire conversation.
Every answer felt clipped.
Every pause felt too long.
Every smile felt forced.
Wanting to break the ice further, wanting desperately to make the evening feel normal and hopeful, I introduced my children.
“This is my son, Lucas. He is eight years old, and this is my daughter Emma, who just turned eight months.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lucas said with a sweet smile.
I passed Emma back to Geeta, and Lucas slipped his hand into hers before walking to the backyard with her. I watched them go for a second, trying to steady myself before turning back to the people in front of me.
“So this is my family,” I said. “Why don’t you tell me about yours?”
“Well,” Karena said, placing her hands carefully on her folded legs. “We live in Vancouver, and we have a daughter and a son. Mirella is eighteen years old, and Cody is fifteen.”
“That’s great,” I said eagerly, clinging to any chance of connection. “Do they know about me?”
No was the quickest response I got all evening.
It was a no filled with shame and repulsion, as if I had asked something offensive, as if my existence itself was something to hide.
Behind me, the air seemed to tighten. I caught the faint sound of Jack clearing his throat, while Cole’s posture grew rigid, his attention fixed squarely on the conversation.
“Oh,” I said, pausing as my heart dipped. “Why don’t you tell me about what happened and how I ended up in an orphanage?” I asked, trying to lighten the strain in the room even though my throat had already begun to tighten. “I’m guessing you were very young when you had me.”
“Yes, I was,” Karena said, glancing down at her hands. “I was eighteen. Your father got me pregnant and didn’t take any responsibility after you were born.”
I sat very still, listening.
“I was young and scared. I didn’t know anything about raising a child, but I knew I didn’t want to have an abortion.”
Her chin trembled, and for the first time that evening, I thought I saw something vulnerable in her.
A small movement drew my attention. Maureen’s hand tightened around the edge of the table, her expression soft but troubled, as though she wished she could reach across and protect me from what was coming next.
“My parents told me I would have a better life without you, so they left you at an orphanage. A couple of years later, I did thinkabout you and started a search.” She lowered her chin briefly before continuing. “Then I met Derek at university.” She looked at her husband, then back at me. “I thought I had deleted the application, but I guess that didn’t happen. That’s how Family Finder Tree contacted me. I felt like it was my duty to at least meet you once and tell you my side.”
And that was it.
That was her story.
That was all.
