The past week had been a nonstop roller coaster of emotions. Events had happened so fast that she could barely react to one before another was upon her. Once she’d found the information Diaz had tried to destroy, she’d been able to follow the trail that led straight to Justin.
Rhonda and Lee Winborn were both blond, and they had wanted a blond child, preferably a boy, to adopt. They were desperate for children, having lost three to miscarriages and a fourth had died only a few hours after birth. They weren’t rich people who went out to buy a child much as they would buy a car; they had all but beggared themselves to come up with the amount of money True had charged, and both their families had chipped in to make up the difference. Since then Lee had done very well in business; four years ago they had moved to this upper-middle-class neighborhood in Charlotte, and they could afford to send Justin to private school, but from everything Milla had been able to find out they were nice, likable, solid people who adored their son and were doing their best to raise him to be a decent human being.
They couldn’t have had any idea he’d been stolen from her arms. They’d been told that his mother wasn’t able to support him, and she needed so much money because she had other children to support, one of whom needed corrective eye surgery. The violin strings had been singing when that tale was told, but they’d had no reason to disbelieve it. The lawyer who’d handled the private adoption hadn’t known, so there was no way the Winborns could have known. All they knew was that they finally had their son.
Not their son. Her son. Her heart whispered it, insisted on it. Hers.
If there was anything of her in him, she thought as she watched him, it was perhaps his nose and jawline. Everything else about him resembled David.
Joy bubbled in her veins. He was alive, he was well, he was loved. Her baby was all right.
The Winborns had named him Zachary Tanner, for each grandfather. They called him Zack. He was Justin to her; that was the name that had been in her desperate prayers all these years, the name engraved on heart and mind and memory.
She had to tell David. Until she actually saw him and knew for certain it was Justin, she hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up. She could have been wrong; it could have been another child. Even after seeing the paperwork and knowing with her brain that this child was Justin, she had still needed to see him with her eyes before she could let herself believe.
It was Justin. And he looked like David.
Milla dropped the field glasses and buried her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Laughter kept mixing with the sobs, until even she didn’t know if she was laughing or crying. She sat there until play period was over and the teachers herded the boisterous youngsters back into the neat, yellow-brick building. She watched him go inside, the November sun glistening on his blond hair; he jumped the last step and was laughing as he went through the double doors and disappeared from her sight.
When she could, when she’d stopped shaking enough to hold the cell phone, when her throat wasn’t so clogged with tears that she couldn’t speak, she called David’s office and made an appointment to see him the next day. If she’d been a patient, she never would have seen him that soon, but he’d always told her he would see her any time, any day, and evidently he had instructed his office staff to accommodate her, because as soon as she told the receptionist her name, the woman had given her a noon appointment. She would be intruding on David’s lunch hour, but she didn’t think he would mind.
This wasn’t something she wanted to tell him over the phone. She wanted to see his face, wanted to share this with him as they had shared Justin’s birth. She could have called his home, gone there rather than his office, but she was selfish enough to want this just between herself and David, rather than sharing it with Jenna and his two other children. For this one time only, this one last time, she wanted just the two of them.
She had the legal papers in her briefcase. She’d had them drawn up before she even came here, because she wanted to have everything ready.
Taking a deep breath, she drove to the Charlotte airport and turned in her rental car, then caught a flight to Chicago.
David’s office was in a professional building adjacent to the hospital where he practiced. The decorations were tasteful and fairly shouted “money.” The surgical group he was in featured all heavy hitters, and David was one of their stars. He was young, he was handsome, he was brilliant. At just thirty-eight, he had many years left in which to shine.
Evidently he’d had his secretary clear his appointment calendar when he was told she’d called, because the waiting room was empty. Milla closed the door to the hallway and started across the taupe carpet to the receptionist’s desk, where a middle-aged blonde and a perky brunette wearing a nurse’s uniform were avidly watching her. Before she reached them, however, the door to the left opened and David stood there, tall and better-looking now than he had been when he was in his twenties. Age sat well on most men, and David was no exception. His face was stronger, with a few lines at the corners of his eyes, and his shoulders seemed a little heavier.
“Milla,” he said, extending his hand toward her and smiling the great smile that just yesterday she’d seen on their son’s face, the one that lit him up like a Christmas tree. His blue eyes were warm. “You look great. Come on into my office.”
He held the door for her and she stepped into the interior hallway, which was lined with examination and treatment rooms. Three different women, of diverse race and age, looked up from various tasks and watched as she walked by. The two in the reception area also poked their heads out.