“But if you make your choice, you’d rather they not know?” Francisco questions.
“Yes. My mother is Irish. She would never condone adoption. Instead, she’d try to raise the baby herself. She would . . . hold the fact I’d want to adopt it to someone outside our family against me. I’d be pressured to be in its life, when I think the best thing for this baby could be not having me in its life.”
“That’s a strong statement.” Eduardo comments from beside me.
“It’s probably accurate. You know what this life entails. I act in certain ways which put myself at risk and I don’t want to have to second guess myself if it means protecting someone I care about. But, I don’t want someone else to be hurting because of a decision I made. That, and . . .”
“And?” Francisco inquires.
“I need time to process everything. I don’t know how much time I’ll need but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t need it. I’ve had so much time to think, but never did I think I’d get out of that cage. I-I thought I was going to die there. So, I need time. I know they’ll be suffering . . . but I need time to process everything before they know. I just need to have my head on straight, and I hope you’ll support me in my decision to not notify them of anything . . . yet.”
Francisco nods a few times, hopefully in understanding. “As you wish. Until you make your decision, you’ll be safe here. This isn’t a prison, but a sanctuary. Dante, would you mind taking Amara over to the guest quarters of the estate?” Francisco asks his son.
“Sure. You ready, Amara?” Dante questions.
“Yes,” As I answer, Dante extends a hand and I take it. He helps me up off the couch and I begin to walk alongside him until we’re out of the living area.
Chapter Ten
It’s okay to be sensitive. That’s what happens when you have magic in your heart
~ Unknown
Dante
I take Amara in through the foyer and walk her through the west part of the house. We go through the kitchen and pass through a wooden barn door. On the other side is a rather large living area, with a decent sized kitchen and a small seating area. There are about four bedrooms on this side of the house. There’s another suite just like this on the other end of the house, but we save that for extended family. The part where Amara will be staying is where I typically stay when I’m here.
“Can I speak freely?” I ask her, knowing I’ll probably say something she doesn’t like.
“Sure.” She comments back, walking forward into the living area. The furniture on this side of the house is much more comfortable. Our formal living areas are really just for show. When I sit on the couch she was on a few minutes ago, it feels like my ass is on a jagged rock.
“You gave me the impression at first that you were undecided on what you’d do about the baby. But when you spoke to my father, I didn’t have the same feeling. In my opinion, you already made up your mind.”
Amara lowers herself down onto the blush beige couch, and I watch as her chest rises and falls with each breath. “I think I’m afraid to say it, to make it real. Isn’t that funny? I have no problem admitting it to others, but I have . . . such a hard time accepting it myself.”
“It isn’t funny. It’s only natural. Or at least, in my eyes it is. You want to do what’s best for that child growing inside you, so much that you’d adopt it out into a family where it wouldn’t have to experience some of the same pain you did, or it might go through being with you. It’s noble.”
“It isn’t noble. It’s selfish. This . . .” Amara rubs her left hand over her stomach and glances down. “This baby doesn’t deserve a fucked-up mother and given everything that happened I won’t be myself for a while. I’m so worried I’ll fall into some sort of depression or when it’s born, I won’t connect with it. I’d rather have a plan. I’d rather have a good family ready to adopt this little one. I want the absolute best for it, and I’m not the best.”
Listening to Amara speak rips my heart in two. It’s as if she views herself in such a bad manner. I don’t know much about the woman, but no one deserves to view themselves so lowly. “The doctor said you were due any day, correct?” I ask, but I heard the same thing the rest of us did.
“Yes,” Amara confirms.
“Are you sure about the decision you’ve made in finding her a family?” I inquire.
Amara’s eyes shoot to mine. “How did you know she was a girl?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I suppose it was a 50-50 shot.” I confess.
“I’m sure,” Her eyes drift back down to her belly. “I want to give her the best life I can, and I can’t ensure she’d have that with me. I want her to have a normal family.”
Immediately, I know of two people who have been trying for a child the last three years with no luck. Juan’s daughter, Yolanda, has been married since she was eighteen to her high school sweetheart. They’re about twenty-seven now because Juan got a girl pregnant when he was a teenager. This is his eldest child, not one of my aunt’s children. Yolanda was told not long ago she’d have to look into adoption if she wanted to have children, how it was the most viable option. She works
