Bianca's heart drummed like a fist against her ribs as she stood before the Well- designed black gates of the house on Garam Street.
The address felt like fate whispered it into her ear.
She had followed Jackson's bus for nearly an hour, her palms sweating against the leather seat of the taxi, her eyes glued to the boy's profile against the windowpane.
"Those eyes.... Blue like a storm rolling over the sea"....
Now, she was here.
Her lips trembled as she rehearsed her opening words in the shadows of the gate, whispering to herself like a woman gone mad.
"Hi… I'm Bianca Williams. Twelve years ago, my son was pulled into river basket, I think you picked him up…"
"No, no, that sounds desperate…" She shook her head and started again.
"Bianca Williams here, I came far because of coincidence, because of fate… the blue-eyed boy is my son…"
She stopped mid-sentence, her voice cracking. What am I saying?
Just then, the creak of the gate startled her.
