“Kelsey, I’m so glad you called.”

My heart is pounding, and my mouth is dry, but sweat is breaking out on my forehead and in my pits. I’m torn between being hopeful and fearful.

“How is Brandy?”

There is a pause.

“We named her Madison. Maddie for short.”

I can feel myself smile a little. “I like that name.”

“But, her middle name is Anne. Just as you would have named her.”

Tears spring to my eyes. Why have I become such a crier all of a sudden? Since I got the tattoo, they pop up constantly. I hadn’t cried for years. Now it’s like I have a spring inside of me that bubbles over at the least bit of nudging.

“About Maddie,” she says and then pauses. “There’s something you need to know.”

“What?”

“And, something we need from you.”

Oh God. Her tone is serious, sad. “What?”

“She’s ill, Kelsey.”

“How ill?”

“Aplastic Anemia.”

I have no idea what that is. I know that anemia is usually just low iron, right? By Mrs. Cross’ tone, the tension and sadness, it sounds much worse than something eating a bunch of spinach or liver will solve.

“In the simplest of terms, Maddie’s body does not make enough red and white blood cells or platelets.”

“How come?”

“Her bone marrow’s stem cells are damaged.”

I understand these terms, but I don’t understand how it all works together. “How sick is she, and what can I do?”

“She’s recently been diagnosed, and the doctors are putting together a treatment plan. We’d been trying to decide whether to find you and whether it was right and fair to do so. Then we saw the show and saw how much you still love her and think about her, so George and I took it as a sign.”

“Of course I’ll do anything I can.”

“First, they will try transfusions, but eventually she’ll need a bone marrow transplant.”

“Okay.” This is all so numbing. I hear her words, but all I can think about is that my daughter is sick. If she needs transfusions or a transplant, then she’s seriously sick.

“I know I’m being hopeful, but did you and Brandon have another child? A sibling is the best match for stem cells.”

My heart constricts. “No. She’s my only child.”

Mrs. Cross sighs. “I knew it was a long shot, but I had to ask.”

“What can I do?” I’ve got to do everything in my power to help Brandy.

“Do you know your blood type?”

I glance at Mary. She’d wanted to type me once, for a class, but I wasn’t going to be her Guinea pig for tests. “No.”

“Do you mind terribly going to the hospital and finding out?”

“Of course not, I’ll go right now.”

She breaths out a sigh, as if relieved. Did she think I’d turn my back on my daughter?

“Making this more difficult than it already is, Maddie has about the rarest blood type.” Her voice catches, as if she’s about to cry. “I’ve got to warn you.”

My heart nearly stops.

“It’s extremely rare that a parent is able to provide bone marrow.”

I let this sink in, wondering how hard it will be to find. “We won’t know until we test.”

“Thank you, Kelsey.”

“I may have given her to you to raise, but she’s still a part of me.”

“I know.” Mrs. Cross sniffs. “But, she is just as important to us.” There is almost a warning in her tone. What is she worried about?

“I would have never given her to you if I had believed otherwise.”

“Kelsey, I know this may be hard for you, and I hope that you will still help, but George and I still insist on the adoption remaining closed.”

I hadn’t even considered asking to meet my daughter. I’m too upset by her being sick and needing my blood and possible bone marrow to think beyond the next step.

“She knows she is adopted, just like our other children, but if we allow her to meet you, know who you are, it could confuse her and the other children who have no hope of ever meeting their parents.”

My throat and heart tightens. It’s painful knowing that she is close. Hell, we might even be in the same hospital at the same time, but I won’t be able to talk to her or hold her. I won’t be able to tell her that despite everything I love her and she’s the most precious person on this planet. At least to me. “I understand.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Cross clears her throat. “I’ll ask Dr. Prescott to call you. He’ll set up the tests and probably ask you a ton of questions.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

I hang up and look over at Alex and Mary, who are watching me with concern. “My baby needs me.”

“What’s wrong,” Alex asks.

“She has Aplastic Anemia,” I answer and Mary’s eyes go wide. She’s a nursing student, and the concerned look on her face is more than a bit unsettling. “They want to check my blood type for a possible transfusion and possibly test for a bone marrow transplant.”

“Kelsey, you can’t give her blood,” Mary warns. “You can’t give anyone blood. You just got a tattoo.”