“The owner, Diego, said the mural’s about heartbreak,” Sarah continued. “I definitely see it. But I will say… It’s hard to feel anything but happy when surrounded by this beauty and sipping on a lavender chai.” She held up a mug and beamed. “Ten out of ten. Would happily risk heartbreak for a taste of this.”
It was impossible not to see pieces of Amber and myself in her.
When my high school girlfriend told me she was pregnant, I thought my life was over. I could barely take care of myself, let alone another human. We were both young. Only sixteen. And I was a foster kid who would age out of the system in a little over a year. I didn’t have parents who supported me.
I didn’t havefosterparents who supported me.
Regardless, I refused to make this sort of decision for her. It was her body, after all. So I told her I’d stand by her, no matter what path she chose.
She chose adoption.
I helped her through it all. Went to doctor appointments with her when her mother refused to acknowledge the pregnancy. Held her hand during every second of labor. Afterward, when she sobbed into my chest as they took our baby away, I just held her.
I still remembered the sound of that wail. The kind of pain that guts you raw. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what she was going through. She later told me it was the most difficult thing she’d ever done.
But also the most selfless.
She knew we couldn’t give the baby the life she deserved. So she did what was necessary to make sure our baby never went without, like I so often did at the time.
I didn’t think I’d ever see our daughter again, considering it was a closed adoption.
But when Amber reached out to tell me she’d been diagnosed with stage four cancer, I hacked the sealed adoption records. I knew she’d want to know our daughter was safe. That it might make things easier.
Like we hoped, Sarah had a happy childhood. Raised by two loving people. Gave her the stability we never could. Supported her as her travel vlog took off.
I often considered approaching her. Not to tell her who I was, but to see her up close. Look into her eyes. Bask in her smile.
I never did.
She had a life. A family. I was just the man who gave her away.
It still didn’t change how I felt about her.
Still didn’t make me any less angry over what happened to her.
“Okay, it’s three AM.” Sarah’s voice surrounded me as I watched a more recent video from a year ago, this one titledNo Sleep in New York: 36 Hours in the City that Never Shuts Up. “I’m definitely tipsy and possibly hallucinating a jazz band is playing on a fire escape.”
She laughed, spinning the camera toward a neon-lit alleyway. “Tomorrow I’m checking out an underground art gallery my friend told me about. The artist goes by Nocturne. Apparently, it’s invite-only and vaguely illegal. I’m in love already.”
I may have never met Sarah face-to-face, but from her videos, it was obvious she was curious. Adventurous. She said yes to the world like it had never burned her.
No wonder Victor Kane was drawn to her.
According to her brother, she met him during her travels. Had no idea who he really was.
Soon, she was rearranging flights and changing travel plans just to spend time with him. For almost two years.
Then she saw him on the news as reporters speculated about a possible run for Governor of Florida.
And beside him was his wife.
During their next arranged meeting, she planned to break things off.
Her body was found hours later.
I scrolled back up and clicked on the last video she ever posted, shot in Santa Monica before her death. The last recorded piece of her life.
She wore a white dress, her dark hair loose, skin sun-kissed and glowing. The light caught her just right. It always did.
