I dressed in my only suit, brought daisies and a chocolate cake, and knocked on the faded door of a small house. An older woman answered. Her lined face looked familiar, her eyes hauntingly so. My breath caught. “I THINK I’M HERE TO FIND YOU!” I said.
She stared at me, something flickering in her gaze. Then, her lips curled — a mix of a smile and a grimace. “NO,” she said slowly, “I THINK YOU’RE HERE FOR WHAT’S IN THE BASEMENT.”
My stomach twisted. “What? I don’t understand…”
“FOLLOW ME,” she said, already walking deeper into the house.
Steve spent years searching for his mother, Marla, whom he had never known. When he finally found her, she greeted him with, “I think you’re here for what’s in the basement.”
Raised in foster homes, Steve had always wondered why his mother abandoned him. At 20, after years of searching, he received a clue from his former foster mom, Sharon: an address and name, “Marla.” He drove two hours to meet her, heart full of hope and pain.
When he arrived, Marla’s first words were unsettling, and she led him to the basement, where he discovered a trunk filled with photos of him at various stages of his life. She revealed that she had watched him from afar, fearing for his safety due to his abusive father. She believed giving him up was the only way to protect him.
Steve was angry, feeling abandoned and unloved, but Marla explained her regrets, saying she had always wanted him and never stopped loving him. They sat together in silence, the beginning of a painful but necessary healing process.
