“You meant it,” Rebecca said, finally looking him in the eye.

She reached into the folder and pulled out another sheet.

“This is the one from the week before she was born.”

She handed it directly to me.

I held the paper in both hands, my fingers shaking slightly as I read my son’s words.

*I’ve talked to a lawyer,* Thomas had written. *If you give her up to my mother, I’ll sign the papers. But I want my name off the birth certificate. I don’t want the state coming after me for child support for a kid who can’t even hold a pencil.*

I looked up at Thomas, my heart aching with a mixture of anger and deep disappointment.

“You told me you were leaving because you couldn’t handle the pressure of being a young father,” I said.

“I was twenty-two, Mom,” Thomas said, taking a step toward me.

“You lied to me,” I said, my voice steady but cold. “You didn’t leave because of pressure. You left because you were ashamed of her.”

“That’s not true,” he protested.