Chapter 30
Baptiste
I take a deep breath, then another, for good measure. I’m meeting my biological mother tonight. In a few minutes, to be exact.
I wasn’t even sure I’d show up until it was time to leave, but here I am. Sitting in a restaurant booth, hands wrapped around a sweating glass of iced tea with lemon, waiting to meet the woman who gave birth to me.
The woman who abandoned me.
It wasn’t easy dialing her number, telling her I knew she was my mother and that I wanted to meet her. Hearing her voice crack on the phone was almost enough to make me hang up. But actually sharing a meal with her? This might just be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I wish Harper was here to hold my hand through it. To reassure me, tell me it’ll all be fine. That I can walk away if I need to.
A part of me believes that, but another part knows this isn’t something you can undo.
Once you know, you know. There’s no wiping the slate clean. No going back.
My knee bounces under the table so hard, it knocks against the wood with a dull thud.
Deep breaths, Baptiste. You can do this.
The restaurant is quiet in that early-evening way—the murmur of low conversation, waiters’ footsteps tapping on the tile floor, warm light spilling from pendant lamps. It’s nice. Neutral. Safe. The kind of place you bring someone when you want privacy without pressure.
Every time the door opens, my heart jolts.
Finally, Helen Fletcher walks through the threshold, and for a split second, my heart forgets how to beat altogether before kicking into high gear, nearly pounding out of my chest.
She looks like she did in DC weeks ago—well put together, composed—but I notice a flicker of apprehension in her deep green eyes as she scans the room. As her gaze lands on me.
Remembering my manners, I stand up, even though my legs might give out. Soon enough, we’re face to face, and I don’t know what to do with my hands. I’m not going to hug her. I’m definitely not kissing her cheek. But a handshake feels wrong too.
“Hi,” she says softly. “Thank you for meeting me.”
“Hi,” I echo, my voice coming out hoarse.
I sit back down, and she mirrors me, folding her hands together on the table just as the waiter appears with menus. Immediately, Helen orders an iced tea with lemon, and the waiter disappears, leaving us alone again.
We sit in silence for a few minutes. I hunch over my menu, pretending to study it even though I already know I’m ordering the chicken parmigiana.
I knew it would be awkward, but awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“So,” she finally says, closing her menu. “This is pretty uncomfortable, right?”
I wince. “Yeah. Sorry. I feel like I should have prepared some questions or something. I’m just… not sure what to say.”
She offers a soft smile, the kind that doesn’t push, and it eases the knot in my chest. “I’m sure Harper told you everything she found—she built quite a case on me,” she says with a small chuckle. “I don’t mind. She wanted to be absolutely certain that I was who I claimed to be.”
Hearing Harper’s name sends my heart into freefall. “My mother,” I finally say, the word foreign and heavy on my tongue.
Her eyes brighten. “Yes. Do you have anything you’d like to ask me?”
The waiter reappears with her drink, and we both place our orders. Another stretch of silence settles between us once he leaves.
“Yeah,” I say at last. “I guess I do.”
“Go on,” she murmurs.
“Why did you abandon me?” The words burn their way out of my throat.
I’ve carried them for so long, shaped them a hundred different ways, but saying them out loud still feels like ripping something open. If there is one question I’ve been dying to ask her all these years, this is it.
She nods slowly, like she’s been bracing for it.
“I wanted to give you the best chance of having a good life. I wasn’t fit to be a mother at the time.
My life was in shambles. I had no job, no place to live, no income, and no support system.
I didn’t want you to grow up in a situation like that.
When I left you at that hospital, I truly believed I was doing the right thing. ”
“And now? Do you still think you’ve done the right thing?” My question comes out raw, harsh, but there’s no bite to it. I’m just really wondering how her perspective has shifted, decades later.
“Yes and no,” she says after a beat, exhaling. “You seem well. You’ve built a successful career, you’re doing what you love, and you’re surrounded by people who care about you. I don’t know if staying with me would have led you down the same path.”
Her voice wavers. “But I also deeply regret it. I missed out on your childhood. Your milestones. I don’t even have the privilege of knowing you, of calling you my son.”
Her eyes glisten with tears.
That’s when I notice the moisture gathering in my own eyes.
I squeeze them shut, wiping away the stubborn tears that escape.
I don’t even know why I’m crying. Because I know she’s right?
Because she stole something from both of us—all the moments we could have shared?
Or because, for the first time in my life, we have a chance to reclaim a piece of what was lost?
“I’m so sorry,” she says, reaching across the table and placing her hand over mine.
My whole body stills, and a strange warmth takes over. As if the hollow that’s been gaping in my chest for so long is starting to fill.
“I’ve had a good life,” I finally say once I’m sure I won’t choke up. “I have a good life. But I was mad at you for so long.”
“You had every right to be,” she whispers, thumb brushing over my knuckles. “I’m mad at myself too.”
“But I’m not anymore,” I admit. “I made peace with it over the years. The questions didn’t haunt me like they did when I was younger. And yet… here I am.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.” She wears a wobbly smile, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I hope I can be now. As much or as little as you want. I won’t push. I know I lost that right a long time ago.”
“Why didn’t you leave a note?” I blurt out—the second question that tormented me growing up. I could get behind the she had no choice but to abandon me, but why not leave a message explaining that?
She inhales sharply. “I wanted to. But they told me clean breaks were better for all involved. That adopted children adjusted more easily without lingering ties. They said you’d be placed quickly with a family, and it would be kinder not to complicate things.”
“I see,” I mutter, nodding absently. “I was never adopted. The mom in the family I was placed with had health issues. I was in and out of their home for a couple of years, and I eventually got placed in a foster home when it was clear they couldn’t take care of me full time.”
Her face twists. “I’m so sorry.”
“I had a great foster home,” I add quickly, not wanting to diminish their role. “They took good care of me. I stayed with them until I moved to Quebec for hockey.”
“I’ll always be grateful to them,” she says softly, eyes downcast.
Before either of us can speak again, the waiter comes back with our food, and we dig in. The tone gets lighter after that. She asks me about hockey and my career, and I ask her about her company and how she turned her life around.
It’s weird, on every single level, to be having dinner and making conversation with my mother. But strangely enough, it also feels right. Like we’re just two people enjoying a perfectly normal Friday night.
The evening flies by a lot faster than I expected, and by the end, I feel good. Like a weight has fallen from my shoulders. Yes, I forgive her. Not because I have to, but because it’s what I choose.
I’m not saying she’s going to be my best friend, but she’s a decent person, and we have quite a few things in common. I didn’t think I still cared about unearthing my past. But meeting Helen filled the blank pages of my story and closed the wound I didn’t even know was there.
“I’m glad we did this,” she says as we wander toward the parking garage. “Thank you for meeting me.”
“Thank you for coming to DC and introducing yourself. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”
“And,” she adds, “you’ll have to thank Harper for me again. I hope I can thank her properly someday.”
I look away. “Harper and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”
“Oh,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
My eyes fall to the pavement. “We started dating after DC, but I ended things when I found out she kept investigating you after I asked her not to,” I admit. “When I learned she took my DNA for the test… ”
The words still sting. But they also sound stupid now, given where I am.
Helen presses her lips. “I see. While I don’t agree with her methods, I do want to say that she is a great girl. I can tell how much she cares for you and wants you to be happy. It’s none of my business, of course, but I owe her this much, so I felt like I should say something.”
I hear her, but I can’t answer, my words drowned out by the thoughts whirling in my head.
“Well, I have to get going,” she says. “I’m driving back to Connecticut tonight.
But hopefully we’ll see each other again.
As I said, I won’t reach out unless you contact me, but don’t feel obligated to.
I would understand if this was enough for you and you never want to see me again.
I’m just happy I got to meet you, at least once. ”
I nod. “Okay. Thank you, Helen. Drive safe,” I say, before spinning away to walk to my car.
As soon as I get in, I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes. This is way too many emotions to process at once. Too much information.
And amid my whirlwind of thoughts, Harper’s face keeps appearing front and center, and the sensation that I reacted too rashly grows with each passing minute.
No, she breached my trust. She went too far.
She did it because she loves you and wanted to help.
I told her to let it go! That I didn’t want to know.
And yet, you’ve never felt this at peace.
Even if that’s true, it’s too late. How can I ever trust her again?
Do you really think she’ll pull something like this a second time? It’s not like you have a second mother she can dig up for you.
No. I don’t forgive. I don’t give out second chances. Never have and never will.
And yet, you just handed out the biggest one of your life.
Crap, that’s true. If I can forgive my mother for abandoning me all those years ago, maybe I could give Harper a second chance for giving me the opportunity to meet her.
My chest tightens, my heart steeling with resolve. I know I have to do it. Because if meeting my mom and getting my answers did fill a void I’ve had for years, I can’t deny there’s another one only Harper can fill.
Maybe we still have a chance after all.