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“That’s fine, we can do more testing. I think this is something we can tackle,” he said with a reassuring smile.
After we finished up at the appointment, and as soon as we stepped outside, the tears began to fall. Gabe pulled me into a hug and said, “It’s going to be okay.”
“I hope so,” I said. “I need answers.”
I pulled out my phone and dialed the number before even reaching Gabe’s car. I found a bench and sat down. Gabe stepped away to give me some privacy.
My mom answered just before it went to voicemail.
“Yes?” she answered.
We hadn’t talked since I broke the news of the pregnancy to her, but I still expected some concern to come from my own mother.
“Mom, this is important. I need some answers and I need them now,” I said. Before she could protest, I added, “Was I born with any heart defects or other health issues?”
“Bella, I told you I don’t remember any of that.”
“You don’t remember if I was born with a hole in my heart? That seems like something important that a mother would remember.”
She just sighed.
“Come on, Mom. This is serious. One of my babies appears to have a heart defect and we are trying to determine if it’s genetic. Do you remember if I had any health problems at birth, anything at all?”
“Bella, I don’t know,” she said.
“How can you not know anything about your own daughter’s birth?” My voice was raised, I couldn’t help it. “How come any time I ask about my birth or anything about when I was a baby, you don’t remember? How come you always avoid answering questions about my genetics?”
I couldn’t stop myself, I let it all out. Years of pent-up frustration. It didn’t matter too much before if I knew little about my birth story. But carrying Gabe’s babies, it mattered a lot and I wanted answers.
I didn’t expect a response. I thought she might even hang up on me. But once I finished, she burst out with, “Because I didn’t give birth to you.”
“What?” I stammered.
“I told you, I didn’t give birth to you. Are you happy now? I’m not your mother, and your father isn’t your father. You finally know the truth so you can stop fucking badgering me with questions I don’t have answers to.”
“You’re not my... wait, am I adopted?” It was hard to imagine my parents being approved to adopt a child, but it was the only thing that made sense.
At first, I wasn’t sure what I was hearing on the other end of the line. Was my mom sobbing?
“I always wanted to be a mother, it’s all I ever wanted,” she spoke between sobs, at times making incoherent sounds, “But my fucking body couldn’t even get that right. So I did something stupid, and it fucked everything up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I can’t—"
“You can’t what? Tell me what you did!”
I heard some sniffling, and then the sound of her blowing her nose. She took a few deep breaths before continuing, seemingly calmer. “I can’t talk about it, Bella. But just know, it’s why I always resented you. Because you never bonded with me, deep down I suspect you knew you weren’t mine. You ruined everything, my marriage, everything.”
Her words were like a dagger through my heart, even though I always suspected it to be true. My mother hated me. She blamed me for things that couldn’t possibly be my fault. How could I, a child, break up their marriage when I didn’t even ask to be part of their lives in the first place?
“I never asked to be your daughter, you know,” I said.
The line went dead.
I sat there in shock, the phone to my ear as if I expected my mom to come back on the line, to tell me what she had done and how I came to be her daughter.
But I knew, in my heart, that just like the love I had craved from her my entire life, she was incapable of giving me what I needed.
