My hand went to my mouth.

He had found that out somewhere along the way, years later — I had never told him.

The stadium had gone completely silent.

I need to stop on that, because it undid me more than any of the rest.

The motorcycle was the one thing I had made sure he’d never know about.

I’d sold it quietly and told him, when he was small and asked where it went, that I’d just gotten tired of it.

I did not want him carrying the weight of what his own adoption had cost me; I did not want him growing up feeling like a debt.