Page 105 of The Unplanned Wedding

"You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?"

She turns back to me. "I have to do this on my own."

I frown.Is this another instance of her being stronger than I realized? Or is she overstretching herself? Like she thought she could handle me, and all that it involved, the night of our wedding? Or is she in a space where she’s ready to do this on her own?

She searches my features. “You don’t believe I can?”

I rub my chin. “It’s not that.”

“Then, what is it?” She glances at the house, then back at me. “I’ve wanted to meet with my birth mother for so long. There are so many questions I want to ask of her. I’ve dreamed about this moment and built it up in my mind.” She locks her hands together.

“This is going to be emotionally difficult for you, and I want to be there for you,” I say softly.

She nods. “I know you do. But I want to do this on my own, so I can prove to myself that I can face the big question that's haunted me for most of my life.” She reaches forward and grips my hand. “You understand what I’m saying, right? It’s for my own self-esteem that I need to face this by myself.”

45

June

The sound of a dog barking reaches me. I heard it as I walked up the garden path toward the house. I stare at the doorbell next to the pale blue door of what could be my birth mother’s place. It’s nice-looking, with a well-maintained garden and flowers lining the short walk to the doorstep. And the neighborhood seems like a typical middle class one. So, she’s not struggling. I’m grateful for that. But it also raises the question: if she's a woman of some means, why didn't she try to track me before this?

Gosh, I have so many questions. About her. About my father. One of the big issues of not knowing where I come from is that I have no answer for the inevitable questions related to my medical history when I go to the doctor. I hope she’ll be able to shed some light on this. I probably won't be able to ask about this in our first meeting, but hopefully, if we cultivate a relationship, I’ll be able to get more information about this… I draw in a breath.

I’ve waited for this moment for so long, but now that it’s here, I’m filled with trepidation.

Once I knock on the door, there’s no going back. My past will no longer be what I’d imagined it to be. Once that door opens, everything will change. I’ll know the truth of who I am. Where I come from and... I’m ready for it.

I raise my hand to ring the doorbell, then lower it. My stomach ties itself in knots, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. Instinct has me turning to glance over my shoulder to where the car is parked on the other side of the sidewalk.

My husband’s leaning against the side of the car, and when our gazes meet, he nods at me. His expression is reassuring. Seeing his broad shoulders and his hewn-out-of-stone features sends a shiver down my spine. Guess I’ll never be impervious to his charms. It also fills me with confidence to know he’ll be at the car waiting for me.

He held my hand all the way here, and his presence filled me with confidence. It took the edge off what could've been a nerve-wracking few hours. And the fact that he remembered to contact the adoption search specialist and help me in tracking down my birth mother? Honestly, I’m so taken aback he remembered. Sure, he said it was one of the conditions for our getting married, but I didn’t expect him to act on it so quickly. He must have realized how important it was to me to find her. He insisted on coming with me. And he didn’t speak or ask any questions. I'm so grateful for that.

He wanted to come in with me...but I... I knew this was something I had to do on my own. My first meeting with my birth mother has to be just the two of us.

My husband wasn’t happy, but he acquiesced. Still, having him there gave me the courage to get out of the car and walk to the door. And now, I’m here.Oh god.I swallow. He must sense my apprehension, for he places his fingers to his lips and blows me a kiss.

It’s such a non-Knox thing to do, such a soft romantic gesture, that I can’t help smiling. The tension inside me fades a little. I blow him a kiss back, then square my shoulders. I turn and ring the doorbell.

The dog starts barking more insistently. It's countered by a woman’s voice saying something. The words are muffled.Is it her voice? My birth mother’s voice?My heart begins to pound behind my ribcage. My palms grow sweaty. My stomach heaves, and I take a step back.Ohgod. Ohgod.Ohgod. I can’t do this. I can’t.Then I hear his voice in my head:You can, wife. You can.

The confidence I’ve always felt from him reaches out to me, bridging the distance between us. I feel his presence, even though I know he’s not standing next to me. I sense his watchful gaze on me from where he’s standing beside the car.

I sense his strength supporting me. I sense…that he’s with me. That he’ll be there for me, no matter what happens inside this house. A calm descends on me. I firm my spine, square my shoulders, and when the door opens and I meet the gaze of the woman who I intuitively know is my birth mother, a resilience pours though my veins. I can see myself in her features.Oh. God. Finally, after all these years, I’m seeing someone who looks like me. It’s surreal. It’s also so grounding. Something clicks into place inside of me. I feel a little more complete than I was before I met her. I’m also surprised by how young she looks. I made up all kinds of images of my mother in my head, but nothing prepared me for the fact that she doesn’t look that much older than me.

She searches my face, and her eyes light up.She knows who I am.The German Shepherd, whose collar she’s holding onto, barks again. He pulls at her, and she must be taken aback by seeing me, for he breaks away and springs forward.

"Bruno no," she yells. But the mutt’s excited. He’s wagging his tail hard as he lunges toward me.

He's not attacking, but I instinctively step backward and lose my footing. Seeing the woman who’s my birth mother must have weakened my sense of equilibrium, for I find myself stumbling back.

I throw my arms up to try to hold onto something and catch air. I keep falling, only instead of hitting the ground, firm hands descend on my waist. Then I’m rightened. Heat flushes my skin, and I know it’s him.

"Bruno, no! Get back." My birth mother grabs at Bruno’s collar and wrenches him back. He whimpers and looks up at her innocently.

"I’m so sorry." She looks to my husband, who has his arm around me, then back to me. "He’s normally better behaved. Bruno, sit."

To my surprise, the German Shephard parks his butt on the cement. He continues to wag his tail and look at me with melting brown eyes.

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