"What?" My mom asked quietly, her
voice darkened into the eclipsed moon.
"Are you sure? That can't be... She signed
an agreement that said no communication
will happen between the two of you.."
"I know, she mentions it in the letter.
Her name is Maria, and she begged
the agency to release my contact
information, which was this address.
She has asked to meet me." I looked
at the ground, hoping this moment would
bury itself six feet under. "I don't know if I
should."
Dad cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.
"Well, sweetie, I think that you are mature enough
to make that decision yourself. It won't make us
love you any less or think of it otherwise. Everyone
deserves to know who their biological parents are.
I think that the agency was more inclined to release
the information to Maria because you
are no longer of child's age."
"That still does not excuse them from
releasing our private information without at least
contacting us in the first place." Mom's fingers
tightened against the edges of the paper.
"We can contact the agency later," Dad squeezed
mom's hand with a small nod, "That's for another time."
"What should I do?" I finally
mustered the courage to speak.
"Whatever you feel like you should do. If you
want to meet with her, we would not mind inviting
her here. If you don't want to meet her, then that is
fine as well. You just let us know what you want
us to do and we will. Okay? We will always see
you as our daughter because you are and there is no
other option." Dad walked over and gave me a warm
hug.
"Thank you," I whispered.
YOU ARE READING
shades of red
Poetrywhen you have too many thorns, all you can do is paint them in red, because, maybe then, they will look like petals [sequel to shades of blue]
