The fluorescent lights of Catholic Charities buzzed overhead like angry wasps, their sterile glow casting harsh shadows across May’s face as she gripped the armrests of her wooden chair. Frank sat beside her, a man caught between duty and despair, while Mother Superior’s words fell like stones into the silence of her office. The clock on the wall ticked away mercilessly, each second another reminder of their impossible situation.
“Your daughter will receive the finest care here at Saint Catherine’s,” Mother Superior said, her voice carrying the practiced neutrality of someone who’d seen too much of humanity’s darker corners. She pulled out a thick manila folder, its edges worn from similar conversations with other desperate families. “We’re just minutes from Ramsay County Hospital, and our facility has handled countless cases like this.”
“Cases like this,” May repeated, her laugh brittle as winter ice. “You mean children having children? Products of—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Let me be clear about the legal aspects,” Mother Superior continued, spreading documents across her desk with mechanical precision. “The child, once born, will be placed immediately with Catholic Charities’ adoption services. We have a network of pre-screened Catholic families waiting to adopt. The adoptive parents will cover all medical expenses and legal fees associated with the transfer of custody.”
May’s fingers tightened until her knuckles went white. “Since we can’t have the child aborted, we just want this situation behind us.” The words came out sharp enough to draw blood. “Will Mary have to know who takes the baby?”
“No,” Sister Margaret interjected from her corner of the room, where she’d been silently taking notes. “The adoption will be closed. All records will be sealed by the court. The child will never know their biological family, and Mary won’t know the adoptive family’s identity.” She paused, adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses. “However, when the child turns eighteen, they have the legal right to petition for their original birth certificate.”
“This child is a product of incest, Mother Superior!” May’s voice cracked like a whip in the small office. “We can’t risk them ever finding out—”
“All children are God’s children, May,” Mother Superior interrupted, though something flickered behind her eyes – perhaps judgment, perhaps pity. She pulled out another document, this one bearing the seal of the State of Minnesota. “We’ve arranged for a special provision. Given the… circumstances, the records will be permanently sealed under court order. Not even a judge can unseal them without extraordinary cause.”
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the muffled sounds of Mary’s sobs echoing down the corridor. Sister Ann appeared in the doorway, her starched habit crackling with each movement. “The girl is settled in her room. She doesn’t understand why she’s being abandoned.”
Frank’s shoulders hunched as if bearing an invisible cross. Through the walls, Mary’s voice carried: “Daddy, why are you doing this? What did I do wrong?” Each word was a nail driven into his heart, but he couldn’t turn back now.
Mother Superior cleared her throat. “There are other matters to discuss. Mary will need prenatal care, counseling, and education during her stay. We provide teachers who will ensure she doesn’t fall behind in her studies.” She slid another paper forward. “This details our comprehensive care program. The total cost, including delivery and aftercare, comes to twelve thousand dollars.”
May’s face twisted into a mask of horror. “Twelve thousand dollars! Are you out of your Christ-loving minds?”
“The fee covers six months of room and board, medical care, education, psychological counseling, and legal services,” Sister Margaret explained, her voice clinical. “We also provide post-delivery care and ensure all adoption paperwork is handled properly through our legal team.”
Mother Superior absorbed May’s blasphemy with the patience of a stone weathering a storm. Her hands folded on the desk like pale birds at rest, while outside, the late afternoon sun painted the stained glass windows in shades of blood and gold. “We can arrange a payment plan, or as I mentioned earlier, there is the option of making Mary a ward of the state.”
Frank stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor like a soul against purgatory. His jaw worked silently, muscles pulsing beneath the skin as he paced the small office. “Seven kids,” he managed finally, voice thick with unshed tears. “A large farm. Our son in Vietnam. School just started.” His words hung in the air like a prayer without answer. “We can’t afford this, May.”
“The state ward option—” Mother Superior began.
The sound Frank made was more animal than human. His hand crashed against the chair with enough force to make the wood groan. “Like fucking hell! We’ll sell the goddamn farm!” He turned toward the door, pausing at the threshold. “The baby goes to a good Catholic family, far away from Minnesota. I want that in writing. And Mary never knows where it went.” His next words came out as both surrender and defiance: “Sign the damn papers.”
Sister Margaret quickly produced a document. “This stipulates the child must be placed with a family at least three states away. The adoptive parents must be practicing Catholics with no connections to Minnesota. They’ll sign agreements never to seek contact or return to this state while the child is a minor.”
The corridor to Mary’s room stretched before him like the path to Golgotha. He found her curled on the narrow bed, her twelve-year-old frame somehow smaller in the stark white room. The single crucifix above her bed watched with eternal sympathy as Frank gathered his daughter in his arms and began the impossible task of explaining why her world was about to change forever.
“You’ll be here until after Christmas,” he whispered, his voice rough as sandpaper. “The sisters will teach you, take care of you. And then… then you’ll come home, and we’ll never speak of this again.”
Outside, the city of St. Paul continued its relentless pace, unaware of the small tragedy unfolding within these holy walls. The sun slipped behind clouds the color of bruises, and somewhere in the distance, church bells began to toll, marking another hour in a day that would haunt three generations.