Chapter 22 - WHY MAE
Neutral office.
No lawyers in room.
Mediator.
Eleanor.
Me.
Adrian waited elsewhere.
I sat across.
Eleanor looked older.
Not ruined.
Not frail.
Just a woman whose authority had stopped entering the room before she did.
I asked immediately:
“Why Mae?”
She looked down.
“Because she was smallest.”
“I know that.”
“I thought that made the argument easier.”
“What argument?”
“That three newborns were too much. That the smallest might need extra care. That Vanessa could provide it.”
“Mae didn’t need extra care.”
“I know.”
“You knew then.”
“Her glucose was monitored.”
“For six hours.”
“Yes.”
“So you turned six hours of normal newborn monitoring into a reason she should have another mother.”
Eleanor cried.
“Yes.”
I hated the answer.
Needed it.
“Why switch her bracelet with Elise’s?”
“To create confusion.”
“Say the rest.”
She closed her eyes.
“I thought if hospital staff had to separate the babies for verification, I could push for Mae to remain with Vanessa temporarily.”
“You were told that would not happen.”
“Yes.”
“You were told it would not create custody.”
“Yes.”
“You were told not to alter identification.”
“Yes.”
“Then why?”
Eleanor looked at me.
“Because I believed if I could create one day of the arrangement, then another day would follow.”
There.
Facts first.
Permission later.
Her entire life.
“I thought you would be tired.”
“I was.”
“I thought you would be scared.”
“I was.”
“I thought Adrian would avoid conflict.”
“He did for years.”
“I thought Vanessa would bond.”
“She might have.”
“I thought once everyone saw one baby safe with Vanessa, you would stop fighting.”
My hands shook.
“You thought motherhood was negotiable if the substitute was competent.”
Eleanor whispered:
“Yes.”
That was the ugliest truth.
Not hatred of me.
Not belief I was unfit.
Belief children could be allocated according to adult capacity and family need.
“What if I had said yes eventually?”
She looked confused.
“What?”
“If after months, voluntarily, Adrian and I had chosen adoption. Would that make your hospital plan okay?”
“No.”
Good.
“Why?”
“Because I tried to manufacture the choice.”
There.
Accountability.
Then:
“Did you love my daughters?”
“Yes.”
“Before they were born?”
“I loved the idea.”
“No.”
She corrected.
“No. I did not know them.”
Good.
“Do you love Mae now?”
“I don’t know her.”
Better.
No sentimental claim.
Then I asked:
“Do you think she should have been Vanessa’s?”
Eleanor took a long time.
“No.”
I watched.
“Because Vanessa is pregnant now?”
“No.”
“Because the branch converted?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because Mae was never available to solve anything.”
There.
I cried.
Not forgiveness.
Relief.
Then Eleanor asked:
“May I ask one thing?”
“Yes.”
“Do you hate me?”
I thought.
“No.”
Her face broke.
“I wish I did sometimes.”
She nodded.
“Do you forgive me?”
“I’m not making that the price of moving forward.”
She almost smiled.
“Therapy.”
“Expensive therapy.”
Then:
“Will I meet them?”
“Maybe.”
“Not today?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
That okay mattered.
We ended.
I told Adrian everything.
He cried.
Then:
“Do you feel better?”
“No.”
“Worse?”
“No.”
“What?”
“Clearer.”
That was enough.
Then family court approved one therapeutic introduction to the triplets when they were fourteen months.
Not because Eleanor deserved.
Because parents consented after evaluation.
I agreed.
Specific conditions.
No picking Mae first.
That sounds absurd, but it mattered.
The therapist suggested:
Interact with all children naturally.
No labels.
No gifts.
No family stories.
No photos unless parents agree.
Eleanor accepted.
The meeting approached.
May you like
I was terrified she would look at Mae differently.
And I knew I would notice even if no one else did.
