Finding Perfect (Hopeless, #2.6)(6)

I can feel tears stinging at my own eyes. I just pull her closer to me. I can’t imagine what that was like for her. I can’t imagine how much pain she’s been in this whole time. I can’t believe I thought it was because of me. I’m not significant enough to cause someone the kind of pain having to say goodbye to your own child causes.

“After the nurse took him away, she came back to my room and sat with me while I cried. She said, ‘I know this is the worst day of your life. But thanks to you, it just became the best day of two other people’s lives.’” Six inhales a shaky breath. “That made me feel a little better in that moment. Like maybe she saw adoptions happen a lot and she could tell it was hard for me. It made me feel like I wasn’t the only mother giving up her child.”

I shake my head adamantly. “You didn’t give him up, Six. I hate that phrase. You gave him a life. And you gave his new parents a life. The last thing you did was give up. You stood up.”

That makes her cry. Hard. She curls into me and I just hold her, running my hand gently over her head. “I know it’s scary because we don’t know what kind of life he has. But you don’t know what kind of life he would have had if you would have kept him. And you’d have this same fear if you made that choice—wondering if you should have given him to someone who could afford to care for him. There’s so much unknown to swim around in and that’ll probably always be there. You might always feel disconnected. But you have me. I know I can’t change what you went through in the past, but I can make you promises. And I can keep them.”

She lifts her face from my chest and looks up at me with red eyes and a little bit of hope. “What kind of promises?”

I brush hair away from her face. “I promise that I will never doubt your decision,” I say. “I promise I will never talk about it unless you feel like talking about it. I promise I’ll keep trying to make you smile, even when I know it’s the kind of sadness that a joke can’t fix. I promise to always love you, no matter what.” I press my lips against hers and kiss her, then pull back. “No matter what, Six. No. Matter. What.”

Her eyes are still full of tears and I know her heart is still full of sadness, but through it all, she smiles at me. “I don’t deserve you, Daniel.”

“I know,” I say in complete agreement. “You deserve someone way better.”

She laughs, and the sound of it makes my heart swell.

“I guess I’m stuck with you until someone better comes along, then.”

I smile back at her, and finally, finally, things feel normal again. As normal as things can be between people like Six and me.

“I love you, Cinderella,” I whisper.

“I love you, too. No matter what.”





Chapter Three


When I got home from Six’s house last night, I slept through the night for the first time in a month. I went to bed relieved that we were okay.

But I woke up this morning feeling not okay.

Sure, our relationship finally seems stable. But Six is hurting. A lot. And I keep telling myself there’s nothing I can do, but when I woke up feeling unsettled, I realized it’s because I haven’t even been trying. Sure, it was a closed adoption. Sure, I’ll probably keep getting doors slammed in my face. But what kind of boyfriend would I be not to at least try to make Six’s world better?

This is why I’ve been on the phone for two hours. I called seven adoption agencies and was told the same thing from each of them. They aren’t allowed to release any information. I keep trying, though, because what if I get the one person who is a little bit unethical in my favor?

I was on the eighth phone call when Hannah walked in. I told her all about my conversation with Six and how I feel like I should be doing more to try to find out information about who might have our son, or if someone can just tell us he’s okay.

I told Chunk, too, because she’s Hannah’s shadow every time Hannah’s home from college.

I debated not updating them, because I really don’t want them to talk about it at all ever, but it’s also nice to have people who know the truth. And besides, three brains are better than one, even if they’re all Wesley brains.

Hannah has called three lawyers in Italy so far. Two immediately told her no, there’s nothing they can do to help. She’s on the phone with the third one now.

“Adoption,” she says, googling something. “Um. Italian. Adozione?” She waits for a moment, and then looks down at the phone with a defeated expression. “He hung up on me.”

Every phone call leaves me a little more disappointed than the last.

“Someone has to be able to help,” Hannah says. She falls back onto my bed, just as frustrated as I am.

Chunk is seated in my desk chair, spinning in a circle. “What if you’re kicking a hornet’s nest?” she says. “I mean, there was a reason they wanted a closed adoption. They don’t want you guys involved.”

“Yeah, because they were scared she’d come back to take her baby,” I say. “But she won’t. She just wants to know he’s okay.”

“I just think you need to leave it be,” Chunk says.

I look at Hannah, hoping she doesn’t feel the same way.

“I’m usually on Chunk’s side, but I’m actually on your side this time,” Hannah says to me. “Keep pushing. Maybe ask Six more questions. Someone has to know something. Italy isn’t that big, is it?”