What I did next probably sounds crazy, but I couldn’t let the babies go.
I couldn’t
let
the babies go
When we landed, I took them straight to airport security and explained everything. They called social services, and I spent an hour giving statements, showing identification, explaining who I was and where I lived.
I told them I’d flown back into my own city that morning. I’d been out of town on a short trip with friends and had returned to attend the funeral.
They searched the entire airport for anyone who might be the mother.
Nobody claimed them. Nobody even asked, so social services took the babies.
Nobody claimed them.
I attended the funeral the next day. And after the prayers, the silence, and the ache, I found myself thinking about those two tiny faces, how quiet they’d been, and how they held onto me without a word. I couldn’t stop thinking about the babies.
