Chapter 8 - THE SEARCH FOR LEO
I left the hospital in a daze,
the notebook clutched to my chest.
The "something darker" was finally clear,
and it was more than I could handle.
I had a son.
A living,
breathing part of me that I didn't even know existed.
I called a taxi and gave them the address of the foster home in Coral Gables.
The drive was a blur of palm trees and expensive houses.
I felt a strange mixture of rage and love.
How could she hide him?
How could she let me live three years without knowing?
I remembered our fights about kids,
how I wanted them and she said she wasn't ready.
She must have found out she was pregnant right after the papers were signed.
She chose to raise him in secret,
maybe out of spite,
maybe out of fear.
The foster home was a quiet,
sun-drenched bungalow with a white picket fence.
I walked up to the door,
my knees weak.
A woman answered,
her face kind and tired.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm Charles Miller,"
I said,
my voice trembling.
"I'm here for Leo Sanders."
The woman's expression changed instantly.
"You're the father,"
she said,
not as a question,
but as a statement.
"Sarah told me about you.
She said you'd come if she couldn't."
She invited me in,
the house smelling of crayons and apple juice.
In the backyard,
I saw a little boy playing with a plastic truck.
He was wearing a blue shirt,
his hair a messy tangle of brown curls.
He looked so much like my childhood photos it was haunting.
"Leo,"
the woman called out.
The boy stopped and looked up.
When he saw me,
he didn't run away.
He just stared,
his eyes wide and curious.
I walked out into the grass,
sinking to my knees.
"Hey,
buddy,"
I whispered,
the tears finally flowing freely.
He walked toward me,
his steps hesitant but sure.
He reached out a small hand and touched my face.
"Daddy?"
He asked,
a word he must have been taught by a dying mother.
I pulled him into my arms,
the weight of him finally filling the hole in my life.
I held him for a long time,
listening to his small,
quick heart.
He was the "mistake" that wasn't a mistake.
He was the reason for the red stain,
the reason for the call,
and the reason I would never return to Chicago as the same man.
May you like
But Sarah was still in that hospital bed,
and the clock was ticking.
