Invisible String

8

Kylie nudged me with her elbow. “If nothing else, she’ll definitely remember you. That woman saw full-on Swift-Kelce family summer energy. She got the real deal.”

“I guess that’s true,” I murmured, finally letting myself laugh.

Travis kissed the side of my head and squeezed my hand. “We did good. Messy, noisy, maybe a little inappropriate—but good.”

“And hey,” Kylie said, standing up and heading for the door, “if you ever want to distract an inspector again, just throw another pool party. I’ll even wear a matching bikini.”

Austin rolled his eyes and followed her out. “She says that like you’d need convincing.”

I sank back against Travis on the bed, finally letting go of the stress. Maybe this wasn’t how we pictured it, but it was us—and if this was what the road to our future looked like, then yeah, I could live with that.

The high of taking the first steps into adoption came crashing down with a bitter kind of reality.

We were knee-deep in profiles, going through the process just like they explained—hopeful, overwhelmed, and trying not to get our expectations too high. That part was hard. The waiting was harder. Especially after everything we'd just been through. Our names had somehow leaked—classic, really—and once people online figured out what we were doing, everything changed.

Messages started rolling in. People claiming to be pregnant, scared, and desperate. Most of it felt... off. We weren’t naïve, but we also didn’t want to miss a chance if it was real. There was one woman, though—her messages stood out. She was polished, clear, emotionally articulate. She claimed she was carrying twins: a boy and a girl. She talked about wanting her babies to grow up in a home full of love, creativity, and stability.

And we thought… could this be it?

We had long talks about it. Travis was skeptical at first—twins? That was no joke. But something about the idea started to grow on both of us. After everything we’d lost, something about giving two babies a home felt like healing.

So we messaged her back.

That was the first mistake.

She was quick to respond. Said she was grateful, honored even, that we were interested. She sent ultrasound photos—clear ones. Told us she was out of state and struggling, said she just needed a little help with gas money and prenatal vitamins. Nothing outrageous, just enough to feel plausible.

We talked it over again, and I made the call. I wired the money.

That was the second mistake.

Because as it turns out, those ultrasound photos? Google. Literal Google images. One of Tree’s interns thought something felt weird and reverse image searched them. There they were, top row. The same ones, right down to the timestamp.

Travis’s face when we figured it out was a mix of rage and heartbreak.

I didn’t cry. Not at first. I just sat on the floor with my back against the kitchen cabinet while Travis paced with his hands behind his head. I felt so stupid. So used. And worst of all, guilty. Like I should’ve known better.

“She was really good,” Travis kept saying, over and over. “Tay, this isn’t on you. She fooled us both.”

I nodded, but it didn’t help. The hope I had built up in my chest crumbled like sand.

The agency warned us this might happen. People pretending. Scams. But you always think you’ll be smart enough to see it coming.

We weren’t. Not this time.