Invisible String

14

I felt tears spring to my eyes, burning hot. “I’m scared,” I admitted. “I don’t know what I’d do if someone tried to take her away from me, Travis. I love her.”

He knelt beside the bed and put his hand over mine. “So do I. And we’re not going to lose her. Whatever it takes—we fight. You and me.”

I nodded slowly, watching her tiny hand curl around my finger in her sleep. My heart was aching, yes, but it was also steady. We had already become a family.

Now we’d prove it.

---

I stood against the hallway wall, Mira tucked against my chest, her tiny weight grounding me even as my mind raced. My phone was shaking in my hand, the screen glowing with my mom’s name. I didn’t know what I was going to say. I just needed someone—anyone—to tell me this was going to be okay.

“Hello?” Mom’s voice came through, soft but instantly alert. “Taylor? Honey?”

I choked on a sob, swallowing hard to steady my voice. “Mom… I don’t know what to do.”

She shifted on the other end, and I could almost see her sitting up in bed. “What’s wrong? Is Mira okay?”

“She’s fine,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “But… Emma… her birth mom. She didn’t sign all the final paperwork. And now there’s a chance she might try to fight it.”

There was a pause, the kind that made my chest tighten even more. “Oh, honey…”

“I thought it was done, Mom. I thought she was ours. It’s been three months.” Tears spilled down my cheeks, warm and uncontrollable. “I don’t understand how this is happening. I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re doing it,” Mom said softly but firmly. “You’re loving her. You’re fighting for her. And you’re not alone. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

I blinked hard, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. “I just want to be her mom. I am her mom.”

“You are,” Mom assured me. “And you always will be.”

At that moment, Travis appeared in the hallway. I looked up at him, still trembling, and he reached out without hesitation. Pulling me and Mira into his arms, he kissed my forehead. “We’ve got this,” he said quietly. “No matter what.”

I let myself lean into him, my phone still clenched tight. Mom’s voice echoed in my mind: You’re not alone. And for the first time since the call, I believed it.

Travis was already in the office on the phone with Tree, his voice low but urgent. I held Mira tighter and moved to the doorway just as he ended the call.

“They’re getting the lawyer on a Zoom call now,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He looked tired—more than tired. Worn down. Just like me.

Minutes later, the screen lit up with our lawyer, Linda Sharpe—sharp in both name and demeanor. Her brows were drawn, her mouth tight. Not exactly reassuring.

“I got the documents Tree sent over,” she began, adjusting her glasses. “It’s not good, but it’s not hopeless.”

“She never signed the final surrender?” I asked, Mira’s soft breath still brushing against my neck. “She told us she did. The agency told us it was done.”

“She signed the temporary relinquishment forms,” Linda explained, “which allowed you custody. But she delayed the final, permanent termination of her parental rights. In most cases, it’s a formality—especially after placement—but it’s a loophole if she chooses to exploit it.”