The One That Got Away ✔

Chapter Fifteen

When I returned home from Atlanta, I found myself waking up in a cold sweat, thinking about the painting in the gallery. I needed to know more about her, the young girl in the wine red dress. I needed to know her story. So, I had Bella, my assistant, locate the artist. Within the week, I had a call back from Mr Timothy Mendoza, the artist who painted Pacara.

"I took her photo myself," he told me, "amongst many other children who lead similar lives to her...I've taken photos of men in trenches, women in slavery, trafficked kids...Our society forgets sometimes how hard some people have it..."

"Your painting expresses that well" I assured him, "did you get the girls name or her story?"

"No, unfortunately...I didn't get close enough to her...I took the photo from afar and wasn't able to approach her" Timothy admitted, "most of the kids in her situation have the same story...orphans or sold into sex work by their parents...most don't live very long lives...Bangladesh is where that girl in Pacara is from...but there are many countries with the same problem...India, China, Pakistan, Thailand..."

"Well, thank you for returning my call, I know you're busy" I half-smile.

"No, thank you for taking an interest, I'm a big fan of your work" he reveals.

After the phone call ended, I opened up my laptop and starting searching orphanages in Bangladesh. For the next five hours, I read about the country, their customs and what kind of life the children live, especially orphans. I then spent the next six hours reading about China, then four hours on India.

By the end of the night, I found myself joining a humanitarian aid group and within the year, I was on a plane to Bangladesh. It was the first trip in years that I went on by myself. My main job was conducting needs assessments for hospitals, schools and orphanages. I also evaluated the responses that were required in emergency situations/assessing emergency situations as well as writing proposals and reports.

I spent most of my time there in schools and orphanages, working closely with teachers to discuss what resources they need for their classrooms as well as hospital wards, working with medical staff.

The hospitals there made me glad that I lived where I did. An underdeveloped country like Bangladesh didn't have a lot of medical equipment or medication to treat patients, which meant deaths that would have easily been prevented in America. In the village I visited, most of the newborns were underweight and the nurses on the pre and postnatal ward didn't have a lot of education.

"They need to be educated properly on women's health!" I cried over the phone in the humanitarian office, hot sweat running down my face as I fanned myself with a piece of paper. "These nurses are kids themselves who don't know the first thing about pregnancy and childbirth"

"That's why you and the group are there" my commander and chef, Donovan Matthews, told me. "Write it in your report"

I bury my head into my palms "people are dying...all these deaths could have easily been prevented if the nurses were properly educated on taking care of women's pre and postnatal needs"

"I know, Alexandra but that's why you're there, to see what they need then meet those needs" he reminded me.

The very next day, there was a pregnant woman in the ward who went into unexpected premature labour. The nurses were barely eighteen and struggled to deliver the baby girl she was carrying. I was sent to assess the situation. After sixteen hours in labour, the baby was born at one am, weighing four pounds, three ounces. The mother hemorrhaged post-delivery.

I came into the ward every day, to visit that baby girl. She didn't have a name by that point as she didn't have any family. I couldn't help but cry when I held her, as I knew that she was going to be placed in an orphanage once she was stable.

After four months in Bangladesh, my fieldwork trip was over. However, I didn't leave alone, I brought home that baby to America and named her Patralekha, a year after I saw the painting in that gallery in Atlanta. I adopted Patralekha soon after, making me a mother of two.

Freddy was six years old at the time. When I returned home from my four months away, I held him so tight and never wanted to let go. He called his new baby sister Patra and would kiss her olive-toned cheeks when he thought I wasn't looking. I would grin each time, lean against the wall and watch him be a big brother. The first time he did it, I knew that I made the right decision.

Three years later, it was 2014 and I found myself at another orphanage but this time, in China. That's when I met baby Ling, she was six months old at the time. It was two years before China would abandon their one child policy, which meant, that girls were being abdandoned by their parents as well as babies with disabilities.

This little girl in particular was born with asthma. The orphanage told me that her parents left her outside a fire station with nothing but a dirty diaper. In that moment, I felt compelled to adopt her too and so I did.

"Do you like being a big brother?" I look over to Freddy.

"Sure" he nods.

"Really?"

"It's been good growing up with kids that have also never met their fathers" he flashes me a cheeky grin.

"Ha ha" I say without humour.

"Seriously, Patra and Ling are my family" Freddy assures, "never had it felt like they weren't...I love them just as much as I would if we were related by blood"

I sigh in relief, "you'll be a good father one day"

He chuckles "Oh yeah, how can you be so sure?"

"Because you have Kyle's DNA" I admit, looking back out the window.