“And?”
“She declined the placement.”
That didn’t surprise me nearly as much as it genuinely should have. Willow’s mother, Donna, had been drinking heavily for as long as I’d personally known the family. Sometimes she’d stay sober for months at a stretch. Then something would happen, and she’d disappear straight back into the bottle again.
Willow had spent half her own childhood taking care of the woman who was actually supposed to be taking care of her. Her own father had walked out entirely when she was eight years old. I remembered Willow telling me about it once, years earlier. “He packed his bags and simply left,” she’d said. “Decided none of us were genuinely worth staying around for.”
I asked Faye about Poppy’s biological father next. “Records indicate he was properly identified, but he chose not to pursue custody. I genuinely can’t tell you anything beyond that.”
I nodded. I wasn’t entitled to more than that, honestly.
Part Three: What Donna Confessed
I left Millhaven two hours later. I probably should have driven straight home like I’d originally planned. Instead I drove over to Donna’s house directly. I still remembered the exact address.
The whole neighborhood looked considerably smaller than it had when I was young. Donna’s house looked considerably worse than I remembered too. Grass grown high and wild. One shutter hanging crooked off its hinges. Empty cans piled beside the recycling bin.
I knocked. Nobody answered at first. I knocked again. Eventually the door finally opened. Donna looked a full thirty years older than I remembered her. She stared at me a long moment. Then she said, “Who exactly are you?”
“Hi, Donna. I’m Holden. Not sure if you actually remember me.”
Her eyes stayed fixed on my face, then her whole expression shifted suddenly. She grabbed hold of the doorframe. “You already heard.”
“I only just learned about it today, honestly. I would’ve come sooner, had I known earlier. I’ve also already met Poppy.”
For one second, I genuinely thought she might start crying. Her eyes flooded fast. “You actually saw her?”
“Yes.”
Donna looked away. “She looks exactly like Willow did.”
“I know she does.”
She let me inside. The whole house smelled stale. Bottles sat scattered across the kitchen counter, one of them still open. Donna didn’t bother hiding any of it from me.
I sat across from her at the very same kitchen table where Willow and I used to do our homework together, years earlier. “What actually happened?” I asked quietly.
Donna took a long, slow breath. “Willow met someone.”
“Who?”
“Vince. A genuinely good-for-nothing man. He was a floor manager at the restaurant where she worked.”
“Was he Poppy’s father?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to him, exactly?”
Donna gave a bitter little laugh. “He was wonderful, right up until things actually got hard for him.”
I already recognized the type instantly. Willow had spent her entire life genuinely afraid of growing attached to someone who’d eventually leave her behind. Somehow she’d found one anyway, despite everything.
Donna kept going. “When Willow first got pregnant, he actually stayed around. When the doctors mentioned possible complications, he started getting nervous. Then Willow died.” She stopped herself, mouth trembling. “And once they told him Poppy had Down syndrome, he was completely gone within days.”
I stared at her. “He abandoned his own daughter?”
“He said he simply couldn’t handle it.”
“Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?”
“You tell me that one.”
I looked slowly around the kitchen. Then I finally asked the considerably harder question. “Why didn’t you take her in yourself?”
Donna looked me straight in the eye. “Look at me, Holden.”
I did.
“I’m still drinking, plainly.”
I realized right then that her speech had been slightly slurred the entire conversation. “I couldn’t even raise Willow properly, half the time,” she said. “You genuinely think I should take on a baby who needs constant appointments, therapy, real stability?”
“You could actually get some help for it.”
“And then what happens the next time I disappear back into this mess again?” She tapped the bottle sitting nearby. I genuinely didn’t know what to say back to that. Her eyes filled with tears. “Not taking Poppy in is probably the very first responsible decision I’ve actually made in years.”
That particular sentence stayed with me a long while afterward.
Before I left, I asked where Willow was actually buried. Donna gave me directions. The cemetery sat out on the edge of town. I found Willow’s grave beneath a large maple tree. Her headstone was simple. Willow. Beloved Daughter and Mother.
I sat down in the grass. For a long while I said absolutely nothing at all. Then I laughed once, purely because I genuinely didn’t know what else to actually do.
“Nine years,” I said out loud. The wind moved gently through the branches overhead. “I thought about calling you maybe a thousand different times.” My own voice broke apart. “I never actually did, though.”
I looked at her carved name. “I’m genuinely sorry, Willow.”
I told her all about Poppy. The yellow sleeper. The missing sock. The way she’d grabbed my collar without hesitation. “I saw the birthmark,” I said, wiping at my own face. “She’s beautiful, Willow.”
Then I made the only real promise I felt I actually had any right to make. “If they’ll let me, I’m going to make absolutely certain she has someone who genuinely stays this time.”
Part Four: What I Signed
The next morning, I called Faye directly. “I want to know exactly what I have to do.”
A pause followed. “To do what, specifically?”
“To actually be considered for Poppy’s placement.”
That single phone call began the longest process of my entire life. I stayed in town after that, which wasn’t difficult financially, honestly. My own parents had died six years earlier, within eleven months of each other. I’d never sold their old house. I genuinely couldn’t bring myself to. I’d paid a local company for years just to maintain it, keep the utilities running, handle basic repairs, keep the whole place from slowly falling apart.
For years I’d genuinely believed keeping that house had simply been some expensive emotional weakness on my part. Suddenly, I needed it desperately. I was no longer just visiting anymore. I was actually moving back in for good. My work as a financial consultant was mostly remote regardless, so that part came easily enough.
Then came the actual paperwork. Applications. Character references. Background checks. Fingerprinting. Full financial records. Health forms. Mandatory training sessions. Home inspections. Multiple interviews.
The social worker assigned to my case, Renee, stayed polite throughout, though genuinely relentless. “Who actually helps you if you happen to get sick?”
“My friend Wesley.”
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