Had. The word sent a shiver down my spine.
“What happened?” I asked.
Lauren exhaled shakily, looking past me toward Amy, who was now collecting dandelions in the yard. “When my daughter was a year old, I lost everything. My parents were gone… car accident. My husband left when I told him I was pregnant. I had no family, no support. I couldn’t work and care for her alone. I couldn’t even afford daycare.”
“I was living in my car for a while, going to interviews with my baby in tow,” she continued. “Nobody wants to hire someone in that situation.”
“I… I couldn’t bear to watch her suffer,” she said. “So, I made the hardest decision of my life.”
I could see the pain etched into every line of her face as she spoke.
“I gave her up. Voluntarily. It was the only way to give her a better future than I could provide.”
My heart pounded so loudly I was sure she could hear it. I could barely breathe as puzzle pieces began clicking into place in my mind.
“I drive by that adoption center sometimes,” Lauren admitted. “Just to remember. To remind myself why I did it. That it was for her, not for me.” She laughed bitterly. “Pathetic, right?”
“No,” I whispered. “Not pathetic at all.”
I knew I had to ask. I had to know, even though part of me already sensed the answer.
“Lauren,” I said slowly, my voice shaking slightly. “Did you… by any chance… give her up at this adoption center?”
With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone and showed her a photo of the agency we had adopted Amy from.
It was from the day we brought her home. I was standing in front of the building, holding a tiny bundle wrapped in a yellow blanket.
Lauren’s eyes widened in shock. “How do you know that place?”
At that moment, everything clicked.
The lullabies. The instant connection. The way Amy said the songs felt familiar from “a long, long time ago.”
I inhaled sharply, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Lauren… Amy said she knows your lullabies.”
She stared at me, frozen, her face a mixture of confusion and dawning realization.
“What are you saying?” she whispered, though I could tell from her expression that she was beginning to understand.
I continued, barely believing the words coming out of my mouth.
“Amy is adopted. We took her in when she was over a year old… five years ago.”
Lauren’s eyes filled with tears, her face turning as white as a sheet. Her hands flew to her mouth.
“No,” she whispered through her fingers. “No… it can’t be.”