AT 18 MY PARENTS FORCED ME TO SIGN AWAY MY NEWBORN SON, THEN SWORE FOR 31 YEARS THEY KNEW NOTHING MORE. I SEARCHED EVERY AGENCY AND RECORD AND FOUND NOTHING. THEN I COLLAPSED AT WORK, AND THE SURGEON WHO SAVED MY LIFE LEANED OVER MY CHART WEARING MY GRANDMOTHER’S SILVER CROSS — THE ONE I’D TUCKED INTO MY BABY’S BLANKET — AND ASKED IF ANYONE HAD EVER TOLD ME THE TRUTH.
For thirty-one years my parents told me they had no idea where my baby went.
I believed there was no trail to follow.
Then a stranger in scrubs walked into my hospital room wearing the one thing I’d given my son the day I lost him.
Chapter 1: The Cross in the Blanket
I was eighteen when I got pregn*nt. Fresh out of high school, living with my parents, no plan, no money.
My mother cried. My father demanded to know who the father was, and I refused to say. That was the one secret I kept.
