Hello. My Name Is Adam. I Believe I’m Your Son. She had just turned eighteen. At work, they told her she wasn’t coping and fired her on the spot. That day, she returned home earlier than usual and found her young boyfriend in bed with a girl she’d never seen before. She went to her mother’s place. That evening, her mother made it clear that she didn’t really want her there—her partner wanted to enjoy life without children. The next morning, the pregnancy test showed two bold lines, leaving no room for doubt. The next nine months blurred together like a single foggy moment. She had to spend nights at the homes of acquaintances and in train stations, taking any job she could find. Winter was the hardest. Once, she even had to beg outside a church. The baby was born on the night of December 13th. He was a beautiful boy, so fragile and sleepy, radiating happiness. She wrote a note: “My dear son, I love you and wish for you to find a caring family!” She tucked him next to a newborn’s cot and fled. In London, everyone was preparing for New Year’s—garlands and paper snowflakes decorated every shop window and home. Bells jingled at every corner. Julia stepped out of her car as the locks beeped. The sleek, red car stood alone and regal in the empty car park. Once again, she was the first to arrive. The security guard hurried to open the door for her. Julia nodded politely, her heels echoing along the empty corridor. She entered her office, sat before her computer, took out her paperwork, and absentmindedly turned the page of her desk calendar. The thirteenth. Years ago, she might have burst into tears, but now she just clenched her fists. “Julia—your coffee, as requested!” Her secretary arrived with coffee. “There’s a visitor for you—he didn’t book ahead, but he says it’s very important.” Julia glanced at her reflection, tidied her hair, and said he could come in. A young man, about twenty, hesitated in the doorway. He looked at her uncertainly, stepped closer, and stopped. “Good morning,” Julia said promptly. “How can I help you?” “Good morning, Julia. My name’s Adam. I… I think I might be your son.” Julia froze. Sensing her shock, he hurried on: “I’m not completely sure. I was born on December 13th. My parents told me my birth mother was eighteen and named Julia. And… they kept this.” Nervously, he reached into his pocket. In a moment, Julia saw the old scrap of paper, handwritten with the note she’d left her son. Tears poured down her cheeks. There hadn’t been a day in all those years that Julia hadn’t thought of the little boy she’d said goodbye to. She’d often imagined him growing up. Through her tears, she tried to see the handsome young man before her, but all she could picture was the tiny baby she had to leave nineteen years ago. She studied his eyes, his features, and finally recognised him. For the first time in years, Julia felt that unique, long-lost scent of happiness. Hello. My Name Is Adam. I Believe I’m Your Son.

Hello. My name is Adam. I believe I might be your son.

She had only just turned eighteen. At work, they told her she wasnt coping well and, without a second thought, they let her go. That afternoon, she came home earlier than usual and found her young boyfriend in bed with a girl she didnt recognise.

She went to her mother for comfort. That evening, her mother hinted that she wasnt really welcome, as her partner wanted to enjoy life without children in the house.

The next morning, the pregnancy test left no room for doubt: two bold lines.

The next nine months passed like a single, misty moment. She spent nights on friends sofas and at railway stations, taking every job she could find to make ends meet. Winter was the hardest. She even had to beg outside a church on one occasion.

The baby was born in the early hours of 13th December. He was a beautiful boy, so delicate and full of light, blissfully sleeping. She wrote a note: My dear son, I love you and hope you find a caring family. She placed it beside his cot, then walked away.

In London, everyone is getting ready for New Years: garlands and snowflake decorations line every shop window and flat. The sound of bells carries from every corner. Julia steps out from her car to the beep of her remote. The red, elegant vehicle stands alone in a nearly empty car park. Shes the first one to arrive again.

The security guard hurries to open the door for her. Julia nods in thanks, her heels echoing down the deserted corridor. She heads into her office, sits down at her desk, lays out her papers, and absentmindedly flips the page of her desk calendar. The thirteenth. Years ago, she might have burst into tears, but now she just clenches her fists.

Julia, your coffee as you like it! her secretary announces, bringing her coffee in. You have a visitor, thoughhe asked to see you without an appointment. He says its very important.

Julia glances in the mirror, fixes her hair, and tells her to send him in.

A young man, perhaps twenty, enters the office. He pauses at the door, studies her face nervously, steps closer, then stops.

Good morning, Julia says kindly. How can I help you?

Good morning, Julia. My name is Adam. I think I think I might be your son.

Julias breath catches. Sensing her shock, Adam quickly continues, Im not completely sure. I was born on the 13th of December. My parents told me my birth mother was eighteen at the time and called Julia. Theres one more thing they kept this. He fumbles nervously in his pocket. Suddenly, she sees it before her: the scrap of paper, with the note she wrote all those years ago for her son.

Tears stream down Julias cheeks. Not a day has passed without her thinking of her little boy. She often pictured him growing up, wondered who he had become.

Blinded by tears, she tries to focus on the mature, handsome man standing before her. Yet all she can see is the baby boy she was forced to let go of nineteen years ago. Studying his eyes and features, she notices the likeness. She recognises him. At last, Julia feels that rare, unmistakeable burst of happinessthe one she thought shed lost forever.