“And then?” I asked.

“She showed up at the station,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “She told me that she had spent years looking for me. That she had never stopped. That giving me up was the worst mistake of her life, but she was alone back then. She had no money to take care of herself, let alone her child. So, she thought that foster care would give me a better chance.”

“She said that she hated herself for it.”

“You should have told me,” I whispered.

“I wanted to,” he admitted. “But I was scared. I didn’t know if she was real, if she was someone I could trust. I didn’t want to bring her into our lives just to have her disappear again.”

He shook his head. “Helena,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t let her meet the kids until I was sure.”

“And the flowers? The cake?” my voice was unsteady.

“She lives in a nursing home, Helena. It’s not much of a place. She doesn’t have anyone. She likes sweets. And flowers make her smile. I don’t know, sweetheart… I just wanted to do something for her. For the years she’s missed.”

“Take me to meet her,” I said.

“You mean it? Helena, really?” he asked.

I nodded. “She’s your mother, Chad,” I whispered. “And if she’s important to you, I want to know her. I want our kids to know her.”

We left the kids with a babysitter while we made our way to the nursing home.

His mother Miranda sat by the window, the light from outside softening the deep lines on her face.

She was thinner than I expected, her body small against the oversized cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. Wisps of silver hair framed her delicate features and in that instant, I saw it.

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