I was 16 when I met a homeless pregnant woman at a community center. After she died, I raised her son as my own. I thought I knew him completely, but years later, my husband discovered something that changed everything.
I started working as a volunteer at the community center when I was 16 years old.
You know how it is: college applications, the pressure to prove you care about something other than yourself, all that.
The center was a converted brick building near the riverfront, the kind of place that offered free prenatal checkups, donated clothes, and hot meals twice a week.
There I met the woman who changed my life.
There I met
the woman who
It changed my life.
My job was boring: folding clothes, cleaning tables, handing out admission forms, and smiling at people who seemed to need someone to smile at them.
Marisol was different.
She never came during mealtimes. She would enter quietly when the building was half empty, pregnant and thin, her hair always tied back.
Marisol was different.
His eyes were awake, but tired in a way that made you wonder when he had actually slept for the last time.
He rejected the shelter’s directions every time we offered them, but he wouldn’t give us an address. He said he’d once slept “near the water,” something so vague that it told us nothing and everything at the same time.
Her voice was soft. Polite. Almost apologetic for existing, if that makes sense.
I began to realize that Marisol never asked questions, never complained, and never stayed longer than necessary.
He rejected the references to the shelter.
every time we offered it to him
He would take what he needed, sincerely thank everyone, and disappear.
Sometimes I would wonder about her when I was folding donated sweaters or cleaning plastic chairs.
Where had he gone? Who was he before he ended up sleeping by the river?
When his son was born, he named him Noah.
When his son was born
He called him Noah.
I remember the first time I held him in my arms.
She had gone back to meet with the nurse, and I was sitting near the door. Noah was about three months old then, wrapped up like a little burrito.
When I looked at him, his eyes were very serious. As if he were already processing everything, measuring it, filing it away.
I remember the first time
that I hugged him.
“Are you watching all of us?” He grabbed my finger tightly. “What do you think, little man?”
It blinked, but made no sound.
“She doesn’t cry much,” I said when Marisol returned.
“She listens to me.” I handed Noah to her and she sat beside me, gently rocking him. “People think I’m stupid. I just loved the wrong person.”
That was it. Nothing more about his past.
We were all worried about her and Noah.
We were all worried
for her and for Noah.
The staff constantly talked to him about the shelters, raised their safety concerns, and informed him about the resources.
Marisol thanked them each time and left anyway.
I watched her leave, pushing that little car with a broken wheel that made it veer to the left, disappearing towards the river promenade.
For four years, I watched her go back and forth with Noah. I felt like something had to give, and one day it did.
I felt that something
I had to give in, and one day
He did it.
One afternoon, the doors of the center suddenly opened.
A woman I vaguely recognized, another volunteer at the center, stumbled in carrying Noah. Her face was red and covered in tears.
“Eliza! There’s been an accident… Marisol. Oh my God. She… the car came out of nowhere. It didn’t even stop. I have to go back. She’s still… please, take him.”
I took Noah away from him.
I took Noah away from him.
He was clutching a red toy truck so tightly his knuckles were white. His face was blank, as if someone had turned off all the lights, and it terrified me.
I laid him on the ground and knelt in front of him.
“Hi, Noah. You know me, right? I’m Eliza.”
He nodded once. “When is Mom coming?”
I couldn’t answer.
I left it on the floor and
I knelt before him.
Marisol never returned. She had left before the ambulance arrived.
Social services arrived within a few hours.
We sat together, trying to remember if Marisol had ever mentioned any family or friends, but there was no one there… just a boy with serious eyes and a broken toy truck.
I would have to go to a foster home.
Social services
They arrived within a few hours.
When they explained it to Noah, he curled up on my leg.
“Please don’t force me to sleep with strangers,” she said softly.
Something opened up in me at that moment.
“Don’t worry, my friend, everything will be alright. I’ll do everything I can to take care of you.”
He had no right to say that to her.
Something opened
in me at that moment.
I worked full-time, volunteered at the center, and paid for university while barely making enough to pay the rent.
I was 20 years old, for God’s sake! I wasn’t prepared to take care of a child.
I could barely take care of myself.
But I fought for Noah anyway.
I fought for
Noah anyway.
Paperwork, home studies, background checks.
Three-quarters of my meals were Ramen.
She cried in the shower almost every night because she didn’t know if she was doing the right thing or ruining both of their lives.
I adopted him when he was five years old.
I adopted him
when I was five years old.
Noah never asked for toys or complained when he received them as gifts. He helped with chores without being asked.
When he was ten years old, I found him mending his shoes with adhesive tape because the sole was coming unglued.
“Why didn’t you tell me they were getting damaged?” I asked him.
He seemed genuinely confused. “They still work.”
I laughed. I thought it was nice, you know? I should have seen what was really going on.
I should have seen
what was happening
really.
Noah was 12 years old when Caleb and I got married.
Caleb approached fatherhood cautiously. He is logical, observant, and methodical.
We stayed together for years before I started noticing a disturbing pattern in Noah’s behavior, something I had overlooked.
Or perhaps he simply didn’t want to see what was happening.
Caleb first tried to get my attention one day during breakfast.
Noah was 12 years old when
Caleb and I got married.
I was by the stove, flipping an egg.
“Noah, do you want one or two?”
“One is fine,” he said from the table without looking up from his duties.
Caleb looked at him over the top of his mug. “There’s a math test today, right?”
Noah nodded. “Mr. Henson said it was mostly a review.”
I placed the plate in front of him: egg, toast, and apple slices.
Caleb looked at him
above his cup.
“I can make you a sandwich for later,” I offered.
“I’m fine,” Noah quickly said.
“You never stay after school at any clubs,” Caleb said. “Is there anything you’re interested in that the school doesn’t offer?”
Noah hesitated. “I’m fine.”
“Is there anything?”
that interests you and that
the school does not offer.”
She finished eating, rinsed her plate, and wiped the counter. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and stopped at the door.
“Goodbye,” he said.
“Have a good day,” I replied.
Caleb added, “Message me if you need a ride.”
Noah shook his head. “I’ll walk.”
Noah shook his head.
The door closed.
I exhaled, smiling as I poured myself more coffee.
“He’s doing so well. I can’t believe how easy the last few years have been.”
“Yes.” Caleb looked at me, frowning. “He’s very undemanding.”
I shrugged. “That’s just Noah.”
Caleb didn’t say anything else until last night.
Caleb said nothing more
until last night.
When I got home from work, Caleb sat me down at the kitchen table.
“Eliza, this is what your son Noah has been hiding from you for years.”
I was stunned when he slid a folder across the table.
I opened it and flipped through the pages it contained.
“What the hell is this?”
She slid a folder over
by the table.
I leafed through it slowly.
There were emails from teachers recommending Noah for pre-university programs that I didn’t know existed.
There were notes from the school counselor offering support, and an unsigned permission slip for a school trip to Washington DC.
The most heartbreaking thing of all were the notes Noah had made in the margins.
I skimmed through it
slowly.
Too expensive.
There’s no need.
They already have enough to worry about.
My chest felt tight.
Then I opened the notebook. It wasn’t a diary. There were no feelings, no complaints, just a series of lists that broke my heart.
Then I opened
the notebook.
She had detailed her monthly expenses as if it were a budget.
Halfway down a page, wedged between the rental estimates and the purchase figures, there was a single sentence written smaller than the rest.
If they’re happier without me, I’ll understand.
Tears welled up in my eyes.
Tears welled up in my eyes.
The next page was titled “If you need my room.”
It detailed bus routes and contained notes that appeared to refer to local job openings. There were also addresses for youth shelters.
He had planned to leave in case they didn’t want him in my house anymore.
But the worst part was the last page of the notebook.
The worst part was the page
of the end
from the notebook.
It was a page titled “Rules”.
It was written in childish handwriting, the paper old and worn at the edges. Like something she had written years ago and studied often.
Don’t be noisy.
You don’t need too much.
Don’t make people choose.
Be prepared.
Something I had written
It had been years and I had studied often.
I closed the folder and stood very still, with tears streaming down my face.
He had let her down. He didn’t know how or when, but at some point he had made Noah believe that he wasn’t sure, that it wasn’t permanent.
I had to fix it.
Caleb finally spoke. “I found it when I was cleaning his room. He wasn’t looking for anything. He was behind his school folders.”
I had failed him.
I pushed my chair back and stood up. “I need to talk to him.”
Noah was in his room, legs crossed on the floor, fixing something with tape. He looked up when I came in, calm as always.
“Hello,” he said. “Did I do something wrong?”
I sat down opposite him, on the floor, so that we were at eye level.
“No, you haven’t. But I have.”
“I need to talk to him.”
I placed the folder between us. “I found this.”
Noah tensed up. “It’s nothing. Just… plans. I was just preparing. It’s not a big deal.”
I opened the notebook to the Rules page and turned it towards him.
“Who taught you this?”
Noah shrugged. “Nobody. I just imagined it. So I wouldn’t be a burden.”
A burden… my heart broke. How could I have thought I was a burden?
I opened the notebook
via the rules page
I pointed out the third rule. “‘Don’t make people choose.’ What does that mean?”
Noah hesitated. “It means that if I don’t need much, it’s easier.”
“Easier than what?”
“So that people will like me. If they don’t have to choose between the things they want and me, or between other people and me, I can be with them longer.”
He looked at me. “Can I stay with you?”
That pushed me to the limit. Then I did something I instantly regretted.
Then I did something
which I regretted instantly.
I took the rulebook page and tore it cleanly in half. Once. And then again.
Noah shuddered. He looked at me with fear.
“Those rules don’t exist anymore, okay? You’re fine, honey. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” I gently placed my hand on her shoulder.
“But this is over. You are my son and this is your home. Forever and always. You are irreplaceable.”
Then I took out something I had grabbed at the last minute.
I got something
that he had picked up at the last minute.
It was a new manila folder. I wrote PLANS on the tab with a thick marker.
I slid it toward him. “This is what we’re going to do now.”
Noah looked at her as if she were going to bite him.
I took out the printed pages that recommended programs to Noah and the letter from the school counselor.
“You’re going to do any of these things you want to do. Okay? You’re going to seize every opportunity that comes your way, without apology, because you deserve them.”
Noah stared at her
as if it were going to bite him.
She lowered her gaze. “I want to… I will. Even if it costs money.”
My heart broke and mended itself at the same time.
“Good.
I held him in my arms and, for the first time in years, he let himself be made small. He rested his face on my shoulder and his whole body trembled as he released something he had been holding in for far too long.
He released something
that he had been holding onto for too long.
If you could give one piece of advice to someone in this story, what would it be? Let’s discuss it in the Facebook comments.
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