“Child services will take temporary custody,” Brooks replied. “We’ll identify the mother as quickly as possible.” As they gently transferred Gabriel into a carrier brought up from the terminal, I felt a sudden, irrational panic at the thought of letting him go.
That night, back in my hotel room near Charles de Gaulle Airport, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the empty business class seat and the tiny form wrapped in a shawl. I kept replaying the moment the woman from 2D had walked past me without meeting my eyes. Had she hesitated? Had she expected someone to stop her?
Two days later, Officer Brooks called. “We’ve identified her,” he said.
My breath caught. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Rebecca Lawson. She’s an American citizen. She flew back to Chicago the same day.”
“She left the country?” I whispered.
“She came forward yesterday,” he corrected gently. “She walked into a police station in Illinois.”
The revelation stunned me. Rebecca had not disappeared. She had not tried to vanish into another country. She had waited—long enough to know her son was found, alive, safe.
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