The Boy Who Carried Me Chapter 1

My mom was the quintessential 90s rebel girl.

When she gave birth to me at 19, she didn't even know who my father was.

Always concerned with her image, she took one look at my dark, wrinkled newborn face and decided I embarrassed her.

So, she secretly threw me away.

And while she was at it, she threw away her new boyfriend's son, too.

Five-year-old Lucas took my hand and led me into a life of wandering.

He resented me, yet he spent half his life desperately protecting me.

* * *

I wasn't a cool baby.

Five pounds, dark, skinny, and wrinkled like a prune.

My mom took one look and recoiled like she'd seen a ghost.

She was a rebellious teen in the 90s, barely 19 when I was born. She didn't even know who the father was.

The guy who came with her to the hospital was her current boyfriend. He wore bell-bottoms, had a perm, and dragged along a dirty little boy.

"Dump it," my mom said with a giggle, deciding my fate as easily as flicking ash off a cigarette.

Pointing to the little boy, she added, "Might as well dump him too."

When I was placed in the wooden basin, five-year-old Lucas was still tickling me, blowing warm breath on my tiny hands, making me gurgle with laughter.

Innocent laughter that couldn't melt the rusted hearts of two adults.