“Bonjour, Olivia.”
“Good morning, Cherise. You’re up early.”
“Angelique woke me at dawn, but she’s sleeping again.” Cherise took a seat beside her on the bench. “I came to tell you that I’ve decided to speak at the council meeting. You and Ruth have changed my life. And I would like to do something to show my gratitude.”
With the abundance of caregivers for Angelique, Cherise had begun working a few hours a week in a nearby restaurant, determined never to go back to her previous profession, so she could be a good role model for her daughter.
Olivia leaned over to hug her. “Thank you, Cherise. Your testimony will help tremendously, I’m sure.”
“I hope so.” Cherise frowned. “Have you heard from Margaret since she left?”
“Yes. She said she’s going to do her best to be at the meeting.”
“Bon. That is good.” Tears welled in Cherise’s eyes, belying her words.
A similar wave of sadness tugged at Olivia. Margaret and Calvin had left Bennington Place a week ago. With the threat of the home’s possible closure, Margaret had reached out to her older sister, and the two had reconciled. When her sister invited Margaret to move in with her, she had gratefully accepted. Olivia was happy for her, yet she still grieved the loss of her friend.
“I miss Margaret too,” she said. “But this is what’s supposed to happen. Our goal, after all, is to help you move on with your lives.” Margaret and little Calvin were, in fact, Bennington Place’s first real success story. They should be grateful for that.
Cherise gave Olivia a curious stare. “You are very sad lately, mon amie. You must have faith that everything will work out for the best. For the home . . . and for you.”
“I’m trying hard to believe that.” She managed a smile for the girl’s sake. Yet she feared the underlying pain from all the losses in her life might never go away.
Cherise rose and smoothed her skirt. “I must get back before Angelique wakes again.”
“I’ll come with you. It’s getting chilly.” She was making no headway with her speech anyway. Perhaps a change of location would help.
Back in her room, Olivia sank onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. She couldn’t seem to escape the black cloud of depression that continued to hold her hostage. Ever since she’d ended her relationship with Darius, nothing but disappointment had followed. Margaret and Jenny had moved out of Bennington Place, their absence leaving a gaping hole in the household. Patricia and Nancy had both recently given birth, which only served to remind Olivia once again how she would never have children of her own. How many times would she force a smile to her lips as she watched the women happily moving on with their lives, while she remained trapped by her own unchangeable circumstances?
Her gaze fell to the hand-drawn picture on her wall, and a spasm of grief shuddered through her. She missed Darius and Sofia more than she thought possible, the ache inside her almost as deep as the one reserved for Matteo. Several days ago, at an extremely low point, Olivia had nearly broken down and called Darius. But then she’d remembered the reasons why she’d left him in the first place and replaced the receiver before making the call.
With a heavy sigh, Olivia forced her uncooperative limbs up from the bed, removed the drawing from the wall, and carefully folded it in half. From the top shelf of her closet, she took down her bag of mementos and carried it to the bed. This was torture, she knew, yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. Loosening the drawstring, she reached inside to touch the softness of Matteo’s baby blanket. She brought the wool to her cheek, inhaling deeply, desperate for a trace of her son’s scent. He’d only worn the blanket for a few minutes, but Olivia held fast to the belief that the wool still contained his smell. Yet even that, like his memory, was fading.
If only she knew once and for all what had happened to her son, perhaps she could find peace. Had Matteo been adopted by doting parents? Or was he still in a foster home somewhere in the city? Despite her litany of prayers, those troubling questions continued to haunt her.
She let out a shaky breath and placed the blanket and Sofia’s picture into the bag, a decision firming in her mind. One way or another, she had to try and find out something—anything—about Matteo’s situation. If she never tried, she would always regret it, always wonder whether she could have done something to get him back. Because until she had some idea what had become of him, until she knew that he was better off without her, she doubted she would ever fully heal from the pain of losing him.
The next morning, Olivia’s heart thudded in her chest as she stepped through the doors of the Children’s Aid Society. Would the people here take pity on her? Or would they send her away empty-handed once again?
Please, Lord, please let me learn something that will finally give me peace about my son.
Twisting her hands together, Olivia headed over to a woman at the reception desk and forced a cheery smile. “Good afternoon. My name is Olivia Rosetti. I’d like to speak to Mrs. Linder, please.”
The woman looked up. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I’m with the Bennington Place Maternity Home. I just need a few minutes of her time.” Perhaps it was cheating to make it seem like she was here on business, but if it got her in the door, she couldn’t feel too bad about it.
“Wait here and I’ll see if she can fit you in.”
Several minutes later, Mrs. Linder appeared. She wore her hair in a fashionable roll, and her dark blue suit gave her a very professional air. “Hello, Miss Rosetti. This is a surprise. What brings you to our office?”
“I’d like
