A routine case—finding a man’s birth mother—became anything but routine. Strange coincidences surfaced, leading me somewhere unexpected. Some answers bring closure. Others open doors best left shut.
Struggling to keep my detective business afloat, I took the case. Matt wanted to find his biological mother, and I needed the money. But when he told me his birthdate—my birthdate—things got personal.
Investigating led me to an old hospital file: two abandoned boys, both born to women named Carla. One had a last name, one didn’t. Tracking down the surviving Carla, I found Matt’s mother. She had regretted giving him up for years.
But the other Carla—my mother—never had a choice. She died giving birth. No records, no family, just an unmarked grave.
As I gave Matt his mother’s address, I visited my mother’s grave, tracing her name on the stone. She hadn’t abandoned me. She had wanted me.
That night, I saw Matt reunited with his mother, and though I had no family to return to, I had given someone theirs.
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