“I convinced myself it was mercy,” she said weakly. “You were alone. No partner. No family in the delivery room. I thought raising two babies would break you.”
“You didn’t get to make that decision.”
“My sister was desperate,” she continued. “When I saw the opportunity… I told myself it was fate.”
“You stole my son.”
“I gave him a home.”
“You stole him,” I repeated.
She looked at me with a fragile expression.
“I thought you’d never find out.”
My heart pounded painfully as memories surfaced—Stefan talking in his sleep as if someone were answering him.
“What’s your sister’s name?” I asked.
She hesitated.
“If you refuse to tell me,” I said quietly, “I’m going to the police.”
Her shoulders slumped.
“Margaret.”
“Does she know the truth?”
“She believes you gave him up.”
Anger burned through me, but beneath it something steadier formed.
“I want a DNA test.”
“You’ll get one.”
“And after that we involve lawyers.”
“You’re going to take him away,” she whispered.
“I don’t know what the future will look like,” I said honestly. “But I won’t let this stay hidden.”
We walked back toward the boys.
“Mom!” Stefan called happily. “Eli says he dreams about me too!”
I knelt and hugged him tightly.
“Eli,” I asked gently, “how long have you had that birthmark?”
“Since I was born,” he said shyly.
I looked up at the nurse.
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