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They stopped a mere five feet away from me, and I waited, watching them look me over. What were they expecting? Do they like what they see? Do I look like a criminal?
“We’ve been waiting a long time to meet you, Easton.” The woman’s voice was welcoming, soft and feminine, and the scent of her floral perfume tickled my nose.
“Thank you for this opportunity. I really appreciate you taking a chance on me.” I stepped closer to them, extending my hand to her. She paused, her eyes assessing as they glanced between my outreached hand and my face.
She closed the space, throwing her arms around me instead, her soft cries echoing around us as she wept into my neck. My eyes widened in surprise, and I stiffened.
“Layla,” the man growled, and I stiffened further beneath her. She didn’t loosen her hold, instead tightening it. “You promised,” he whispered.
“He’s here, Andy. He’s real.”
I looked at the man standing behind her, and the sadness and relief in his gaze was staggering. He cleared his throat, opened his mouth, but said nothing.
The woman released me and stepped back, wiping at her misty eyes. “Oh, God, I wasn’t supposed to do that.” She laughed nervously through her tears. I wanted to understand the silent conversation they shared with one look, but the voice in my head had me stepping away from them.
“I don’t understand.” I looked between them, searching for an answer to their weird behavior but received none.
“We weren’t going to tell you like this. I wasn’t supposed to,” Layla started to explain but then choked on her emotion.
Andy stepped closer, and putting his hand on her shoulder, he finished for her, “We’re your parents, Easton.”
“No.” I stepped back again, my back hitting the closed elevator doors. The cold seeped through the thin material of my shirt, shocking me, but I couldn’t move. “I don’t have parents.”
Layla clutched her chest with a loud sob. Andy wrapped his arms around her, holding her up as her knees buckled beneath her weight.
“It’s true. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she cried, her wails of desperation echoing around us. “I thought I made the right choice. I thought I did. I’m sorry.”
Andy’s dark eyes were drowning in unspoken emotion as he held up whom I presumed to be his wife. She fell apart, her sobs getting louder with each passing moment. I hated seeing women cry. Because I hated hearing my foster mother cry when our foster father beat her. I hated the weakness I associated with it.
“I don’t have parents.” I swallowed thickly, wishing I hadn’t come here today. I didn’t need this. I didn’t want their charity. I didn’t need this job; I would find another. I didn’t need more abusers in my life.
Giving them my back, I pressed the elevator button repeatedly, needing to get fresh air. The walls were closing in, and I couldn’t think straight with her cries bouncing around us.
“Please don’t go.” Andy’s gruff voice was soft, broken.
The doors opened, and I hesitated when her cries increased. “Andy, please. Andy! He’s leaving!” Her voice pierced my heart, and I turned to look at Layla fighting her husband, trying to get to me.
The elevator doors closed, and my opportunity to flee was gone.
Analyzing their appearances, I noted the similarities between me and them. I saw my eyes in hers, and my facial structure mirrored Andy’s. They could be telling the truth, or they could be lying. Just like my foster father lied about finding my real parents. Just like Gray lied that night.
I couldn’t trust them. I owed it to myself to leave, but I couldn’t move my fucking feet, not with Layla’s ice-blue eyes piercing me, begging me to stay.
“Show him, Andy. Show him.” Andy released her, and with quick strides to his big desk, he started throwing papers around until he found whatever he was looking for. Layla held herself, her chest heaving with soft sobs, her eyes scanning me.
Andy walked past his wife and thrust an old, wrinkled paper into my hands. My eyes skimmed over the big, bold letters.
Certificate of Birth
Child’s Name: Easton Ryder Briggs
Date of Birth: April 12th
“This doesn’t prove anything.” I didn’t look up as I continued to scan the contents of the certificate. Once I had finished going through the document, I looked up at the two strangers I was starting to believe might just be my parents.
“We were sixteen when I fell pregnant with you. Seventeen when you were born and in no way prepared to take care of a child. Your father and I grew up in a trailer park on the edge of town, with nothing to our names and parents who didn’t want anything to do with a baby.” Layla, my mother, wiped her wet cheeks and stepped away from Andy to close the space between us.
“It’s been twenty-six fucking years,” I gritted, seeing the resemblance in their faces more and more and wishing it wasn’t there.
