Chapter 2
I stared at the birth certificate until the letters blurred.
Andre Ellis.
Born at Mercy General Hospital.
Same date.
Same city.
Same time my mother always said I came into the world after “twenty hours of labor and one stubborn little cry.”
Except her name wasn’t on the paper.
My mother reached toward me.
I stepped back.
Not far.
Just enough that her hand fell between us.
That hurt her.
I saw it.
But I couldn’t help it.
“Who is Denise Ellis?” I asked.
My mother closed her eyes.
My father answered.
“His real mother.”
The words hit harder than any punch could have.
I looked at him.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Why? Truth sound disrespectful now?”
“You don’t get to talk to her like that.”
He stepped closer.
“She lied to me too.”
That stopped me.
“What?”
My mother sank into the chair by the table.
“I didn’t lie about loving you.”
I laughed once.
It came out broken.
“That’s not what I asked.”
My father picked up one of the photos.
A young woman smiled into the camera.
Dark skin.
Round cheeks.
Big eyes.
My eyes.
She held a baby wrapped in a blue blanket.
Me.
My knees almost gave.
“Her name was Denise,” my mother whispered. “She was my cousin.”
“Was?”
“She died.”
The kitchen tilted.
“How?”
My father slammed his palm on the table.
“Tell him all of it, Patricia.”
My mother flinched.
I turned on him.
“Don’t hit the table.”
His nostrils flared.
But he didn’t do it again.
My mother wiped her cheeks.
“Denise was seventeen when she had you. She was scared. Her mother had kicked her out. Your father wasn’t around. She came to me because I was the only family member still speaking to her.”
I looked at the photo.
This girl.
This stranger.
This blood.
“She gave me to you?”
“No,” my mother said quickly. “Not like that.”
My father laughed bitterly.
“Here we go.”
My mother’s voice shook.
“She got sick after you were born. Infection. Fever. It happened fast. The hospital called me because I was listed as emergency contact.”
I sat slowly.
The chair felt too hard.
Too real.
“She died when I was two days old?”
My mother nodded.
“I was there.”
“Was he?”
I looked at my father.
He shook his head.
“I didn’t know any of this.”
My chest tightened.
“You didn’t know I wasn’t yours?”
He looked at me then.
Really looked at me.
And for the first time that night, I saw pain instead of rage.
“I found out three weeks ago.”
My mouth went dry.
“How?”
My mother covered her face.
My father reached into the envelope and pulled out another paper.
“Life insurance letter.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Some company contacted your mother. Policy in Denise Ellis’s name. Small thing. Twenty-five thousand. You were beneficiary.”
I stared at her.
“Me?”
My mother nodded.
“I didn’t know it existed.”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“She got the letter and hid it.”
“I was trying to figure out what to do,” she said.
“For three weeks?” he snapped.
“I panicked!”
“You always panic when truth comes looking.”
“Stop,” I said.
They both went quiet.
I picked up the hospital bracelet.
Tiny.
Faded.
My first name printed in black.
Baby Boy Ellis.
For twenty-two years, I had been Andre Robinson.
Marcus and Patricia Robinson’s son.
Church usher.
Football captain.
Scholarship kid.
The one everybody said had his father’s stubbornness and his mother’s smile.
Now I didn’t know whose smile I had.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
My mother lowered her hands.
“Because I loved you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I had.”
I stood.
My father said, “Andre.”
I grabbed the birth certificate, the photo, and the bracelet.
“I need air.”
My mother started to rise.
“Please don’t leave like this.”
I looked at her.
“If I stay right now, I’m gonna say something I can’t take back.”
Then I walked out.
May you like
Behind me, I heard my mother sob.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t turn around.
