Too Far 05 - Simple Perfection

phone. I fisted my hand around my truck keys and moved to stare down at my truck parked outside. I could get to her in five hours.
    “Della was adopted.”
    So many emotions ran through me at once, I wasn’t sure if I was going to weep or cheer or fall to my knees and take deep, even breaths. Holy fuck. This was a game changer.
    “She was adopted?” I managed to choke out.
    “Yep. She was adopted. Her adoptive parents were scared to have kids because they were afraid that Della’s grandmother’s mental illness was genetic. So they adopted a boy from the foster system. He was two when they adopted him. Then a couple years later they adopted a baby girl from a teenager who wasn’t ready to be a mother yet. You know the rest.”
    She was adopted. Her fear of being mentally ill like her mother was unfounded. “Does she know?”
    “I told her today. She knows. I’ve set up a meeting with her birth mother. She’s a kindergarten teacher. She’s married and has a ten-year-old son and an eight-year-old daughter. They live in Bowling Green, Kentucky. Her name is Glenda Morgan and she wants to meet Della. She said she tried looking for her after her son was born. She realized what she had given up and she wanted to make sure she was okay. But the file was closed and it cost money she didn’t have to get an investigator. Her husband had agreed that with their income tax refund this year they would find her daughter instead of taking a family vacation. So when the investigator I hired found her she was as thrilled as I was.”
    I wanted to like this woman, but knowing that her decision to give Della up had been the reason for the hell Della had lived through made it hard for me to forgive her. Where was the guy who knocked her up? Did he not care he’d given up a child?
    “What about her birth father?” I asked.
    “Glenda has contacted him. His name is Nile Andrews. He lives in Phoenix, Arizona. He’s a dentist. Also married, with triplets. All girls. He wants to meet Della, too. His wife is being supportive of his decision.”
    A kindergarten teacher and a dentist.
    “I’ve seen a photo of her birth mother. She looks like her.”
    “Please let me come. I want to be with her through this. She needs me.”
    “No, Woods. What she needs is to feel like she’s strong. Like she can handle all of this on her own. She knows she’s not going insane now. That’s big. Real big. She’s lived with that fear for so long. It’s crippled her. She has to find her own strength now. And she needs to come back to you on her own. With the belief that she is strong and worthy of you.”
    “Worthy of me? What the fuck does that mean? I belong to her. How can she not be worthy of me?”
    “I know this and you know this but she has to figure this out on her own. She had shit for a life. I held her hand for years. Then she left me and within months she had you holding her hand. No one can hold her hand this time.”
    “I don’t want her to be alone.”
    “This isn’t about what you want, Woods. It’s about what Della needs.”
    I pressed my forehead against the window and closed my eyes. I didn’t want her to be right. I didn’t want to wait for Della. But this wasn’t about my wants. Della loved me more than herself. She loved me enough to walk away because she thought it was best for me. It was time I proved I loved her more than I loved myself.
    “Okay. But please, keep me updated.”
    Braden let out a relieved sigh. “I knew you’d do the right thing. Just so you know, I think you’re worthy of her, and that’s a high bar to reach. You promised to walk on water and I happen to believe Della already does.”

Della
    H er name was Glenda. When she’d given birth to me it had been Glenda James. She married when she was twenty-two. I would have been six years old that year. She married a man she met her freshman year of college. They had fallen instantly in love. They had kids. Two of them. Today I would be meeting her. And if all went well I would be meeting her family.
    I was in a surreal moment. One I couldn’t seem to snap out of. The mentally ill woman who raised me wasn’t my biological mother. I wasn’t going to become her. The woman who gave birth to me was a teacher. She was a mom and wife.
    And my brother. He had been adopted, too. I didn’t remember him but he’d been such a big part of my life. My mother had snapped after losing him and my father . . . or her husband. He wasn’t my birth