As a woman who had longed for a baby, I could not do that to a mother, so I knocked.
A woman’s voice, tired and wary, called, “Come in.”
Inside was a young woman propped up against hospital pillows, no older than 25.
Her hair was tied back messily. Her face was pale from exhaustion.
There were dark circles under her eyes and the specific stillness of someone who has cried so much her body has temporarily run out.
The young woman’s eyes landed on me.
Then widened, as if questioning who I was.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
I should have planned words on the walk over.
I should have had something careful and diplomatic ready.
Instead, I just told the truth.
“My name is Melissa,” I said. “My husband and I are the couple here to adopt your baby.”
The young woman’s lower lip trembled.
I took a step closer. “I’m sorry if this is inappropriate. I know this is not how any of this is supposed to happen. But before I sign anything, I need to know something.”
I looked at her. “Have you been pressured to give your baby up for adoption?”
Her eyes filled instantly.
“No, she said, her eyes looking at the door as if afraid someone might walk in.
I looked at her, confused. “I heard that you were under pressure, maybe I am mistaken.”
“No,” she said again, offering no explanation, while dabbing at her tearful eyes.
“Please, I would not in good faith adopt the baby if I think you are being pressured. I am yet to sign the papers,” I said,
She signed, calming down, and now fiddling with her fingers.
“You should go ahead with the adoption,” she said, “I want her to be adopted. I just wanted an open adoption, and my parents, Rita and William, insisted it must be a closed one.”
It dawned on me then. She had agreed to give her baby up for adoption, but her terms had not been met.
Still, I asked, “So, it’s not that you want to keep the baby?”
“I want her to go to a good home, but I just wanted to know which home and to receive any kind of updates as she grows up.”
I wondered why her parents didn’t want that.
She seemed to read the confusion on my face.
“My parents think if it’s an open adoption, I won’t close this chapter. That I won’t focus on school and my future as they want me to.”
“I think you should make the choice you see fit.”
She scoffed. “It’s not that easy. The child’s father disappeared as soon as she learned I was pregnant, which made my parents even angrier. Now, they have said if I insist on open adoption, they will cut me off financially.”
I was about to say something when the door opened, and a man and a woman walked in.
The woman had sharp, tired features and a cardigan buttoned wrong at the top.
The man’s jaw was set so tightly it looked painful.
The man looked at me and snapped, “What is going on here, Cindy?”
“I… ” I answered. “I am the woman adopting your daughter’s child. I was just having a conversation with her.”
“You are not supposed to be here,” Cindy’s father, William, boomed, “This is a closed adoption. How do you even know who she is?”
Cindy started crying. “Please, Dad. I told you I want an open adoption. Let her hear me out.”
Her mother, Rita, turned toward her. “Cindy, don’t do this. Please don’t make this harder.”
She then told me. “You have no business being here.”
“Harder for who?” Cindy whispered.
Her father took one step forward. “For everyone.”
