Easter Story Part 8 by Terri Reed

Sam's stomach dropped. This woman was claiming to be Greta's biological mother and in the same breath saying there was a chance Greta could have leukemia. Could this be true?
Her baby, potentially ill?

On shaky legs, Sam pulled the front door closed and sank to the top step of the porch. The evening had cooled. Chills played havoc over her skin. The sweet scent of roses from the flower bed rose in the air. A smell Sam normally loved, but now clogged her senses, making her gag. Her stomach churned turning the delicious dinner sour. What had started out as a relaxed, wonderful evening was quickly becoming a nightmare.

Dropping her head into her hands, she prayed, Please Lord, cover my baby, keep her healthy. Please don't let this be happening.

“How did you find me?” Sam asked. “The adoption was supposed to be closed.”

Carla sat beside Sam. “It’s amazing what you can do when motivated." She laid a hand on Sam’s arm. “Please, you have to listen to me.”

Sam raised her head and stared at this woman. She tried to see her daughter in this other woman’s face. Maybe the eye shape was similar, maybe the bow of her mouth. Sam hadn’t ever imagined she meet the woman who’d given birth to Greta.

Her heart ached and she wished Dan were here. He’d know how to handle this. But he wasn’t. And she had to be strong.

Thankfully, she had people in her life to support her. Dan’s parents. Jeff. The protective way he hovered over Greta warmed Sam’s heart. Her little girl was safe with him.

“I’m listening. You said DNA tests?”

“You need to take her see her doctor. They can do a blood test.” Carla pulled out a thick, folded stack of papers. “Everything you need to know about me and my medical history is here.”

A shudder ripped through Sam as images of needles and tubes sticking out of her child tortured her mind. Her throat constricted. She took the papers. “What of the father?”

Carla bit her lip. “I don’t think you’ll need anything from him. This disease is passed on maternally.”

Sam swallowed. “But you know who the father is?”

Carla didn’t answer; instead she glanced over her shoulder at the closed door to the house. “Are you and Jeff...a couple?”

“No. We’ve just met.” Sam narrowed her gaze on Carla. “How do you know him?”

Carla wrung her hands. “We dated.” She took a shuddering breath. “About six years ago.”

Everything inside Sam stilled. “Are you suggesting that Jeff could be Greta’s father?”