2005

Sara waited until the door of her dormitory opened and closed to let her tears hit the sink. As much as Derek's betrayal hurt her, it pained the aspiring ballerina more that she wouldn't see him again. Sara unmistakably refused to ponder how Derek ended up with Nikki. She instead questioned if they should've break up before she left for New York. The brown-eyed dance major washed the tear stains off her face and reapplied with a fresh coat of make-up. Since she was in a new city, she should fully immerse herself in it. Sara started this resolution by meeting up with her roommate Zoe, fellow upperclassman Marcus, and his dormmate Leo at Old John's Luncheonette for lunch. Neither of them knew about Derek, which Sara found slightly comforting. She wanted to get through the day without crying again. One hour became many. Days turned into weeks and eventually months.

Sara only kept in touch with her father throughout her junior year. The last time they talked, his career as a jazz trumpeter garnered steady traction since his band started performing for nightspots. Sara had thought about reaching out to Chenille. After all, they were friends before she and Derek got together. Yet, she felt things were already awkward enough. Which led Sara not to ask her dad about the Reynolds siblings.


2006

When Sara met Miles Sultana, she didn't expect how he impacted her senior year. The scampish guest lecturer was fervid about the history of hip-hop and its culture. He had introduced her to Shakes, a dance club which reminded her of Stepps back home. Her dancing skills didn't quite sway many people like Candy's did. One commented that Sara was "lacking genuine flavor". However, others were impressed; Miles saw her potential. She knowingly resumed taking her ballet course, but she couldn't quench the flame hip-hop ignited in her. It was during midterms when the biracial composer made his own move and asked Sara out. She considered the fact that he was the son of her professor, Monique Delacroix. That could've persuaded her to say no, but it didn't. Miles took her to Mister Paradise for their first date. On their second, he gifted her a mixtape of his original compositions.

While Miles shared Sara's passion for hip-hop, they realized they were better off as friends. He moved to Louisiana four months later and got engaged. While his friendship with Sara faded into obscurity, their brief connection had helped her realize something. Her lifelong dream of being a prima ballerina evolved along with her love for ballet. Sara herself didn't go on the rebound; instead, her sights were on a new goal. She took on choreography as an elective for her final semester in Juilliard.


Late 2007

A year after graduation, Sara rented a townhouse in Long Island City, Queens. She found employment as a dance instructor and still talked with her Juilliard friends. While Marcus was pursuing his master's degree abroad, Zoe stayed in Manhattan. The latter provided commentary on her ex-dormmate's social life. Sara believed this was because her friend and Franz were dating. The two met during Miles's introductory lecture. The offbeat theatre major flirted at first sight with his 5'11 musician friend, who found her slightly terrifying and charismatic. They were together since then. "So, have you met anyone new yet?"

"No, I haven't. I've already told you I need to focus on building my portfolio."

"Come on, momma. You need to have fun sometimes."

"I don't have the time."

"Make it then. Did you swear off dating or something?" Of course not, and she wasn't avoiding relationships on purpose either. It wasn't just Zoe. Ever since Sara decided that she wasn't returning to the South Side, Roy would call her daily to ask about her personal life. It was a bit unanticipated. Frankly, the move to Long Island City was a subconscious impulse.

One cold December night, Sara's slumber was disturbed by a long, high-pitched cry. She grabbed her bed robe and went to investigate. The wailing was intensified as the 23-year-old turned on the front light and opened the door. A small laundry basket of towels was placed on the doorstep. Sara knelt down and carefully dug up what was inside. Much to her shock, she uncovered a newborn in a pink side-snap bodysuit. Her saddle brown skin was turning pale and cool. Sara carried her inside along with the basket. She dressed the foundling in an oversized cable-knit sweater before she contacted the authorities.

At the hospital, the infant was taken to the NICU. A male police officer interrogated Sara in the waiting room. "Did you see anyone else when you opened the door?"

"No," she answered.

A female cop approached and spoke indistinctly to him. "We don't have any more questions for you, miss," he told Sara. "You can go home."

Just then, an ivory-skinned woman in her thirties and her daughter entered the waiting room. The girl had green eyes, soft black hair, and looked no older than 16. The Juilliard alumna wasn't sure if she had seen them before. Ms. Maris—the older woman's name—had been searching for her missing laundry basket all night. Coincidentally, it was the very wicker basket the police were holding as evidence. The inquisitive officer queried if she knew anything about the baby hidden in there. Ms. Maris vehemently denied this and demanded an explanation from her cheerless daughter. Serena Kayla—her name—divulged how a spring fling with a classmate led to an unplanned pregnancy. The baby was born precisely last week. Furious, Ms. Maris excoriated her teenage daughter as two other officers restrained her. The humiliated Serena Kayla was instructed to call her child's father. Half an hour, a teenage boy and his father showed up. Their skin share the same mahogany color. They joined the police and the Marises in the hallway. Unbeknownst to them, a quiescent Sara sat and watched it all.

Sometime later, someone woke her up by shaking her shoulder. It was one of the pediatricians. She was clutching onto a few manilla folders full of documents. "Are you here for someone?"

Sara tried not to yawn. "I wanted to make sure if she is okay."

The ruddy doctor didn't comprehend until the previous events were recounted. "So, that was your sweater she was wearing." Her thin lips stretched into a pleased smile. "It seemed to help increase her body temperature. We'll check to see if it has reached normal. Other than that, she'll be free for discharge once she's fed."

The dance instructor exhaled in relief. "Is her family still here?"

"No, they aren't." The frowning doctor guardedly disclosed what ultimately happened in the hallway. Serena Kayla Maris was arrested for child abandonment, which was a felony according to state law. Her parental rights would undeniably be terminated. On top of that, neither the birth father nor grandparents wished to raise the child. The doctor addressed a nurse, "Let me know when Social Services arrive."

Sara looked at the clock on the wall. It was 6:54am. She had to teach her class in the next hour and 21 minutes. "I have to go soon, but can I see her first?" The doctor escorted her to the Level I nursery. The baby was sleeping peacefully in the third farthest bassinet from the exit. It was around that time the oversized sweater was returned to its rightful owner in a plastic bag.

As Sara was getting ready for work, she reflected on last night. It made her felt grateful that she had her dad after losing her mom. Still, she couldn't imagine what the orphaned infant might face. She did not want her to be without ties. If there was a way for her to help, she was going to take it no matter the risk.


Early 2009

It took a home study, a series of visits from the caseworker, several court hearings, and placement supervision. Nevertheless, Sara was elated when the 14-month-old foundling was legally named Samara Angel Johnson. Zoe and Franz were present that day in the courtroom. Roy said he couldn't wait to meet his new granddaughter. Outside this little bubble, Sara received occasional side-eyes for raising a child of color. These factors, along with balancing time for dance classes, didn't make her regret her decision. She loved Samara more each day and vice versa.

Five months after the adoption was finalized, Roy's calls with Sara went from daily to sparingly. This didn't worry her too much at first. She thought it was due to his band rehearsals. Whatever the reason was, the 25-year-old pushed it aside. She now had her daughter to be concerned about. One day, Sara received a call from an unknown number. She was going to rule it another spam if its area code wasn't based in Chicago. "Hello?"

"Hello. May I speak to Sara Johnson?"

"This is she."

"My name is Frederick Adams. I'm an emergency medicine doctor at Mercer Hospital. I'm calling because you're listed as next of kin by your father, Mr. Roy Johnson. He was brought into the ER last night for alcohol poisoning." The doctor seemed to sense her dread. "We've pumped his stomach and had him on intravenous fluids. He is stabilized, but I think it'll be better if we discuss the next course of action in person. How soon can you get here?"

Sara swallowed a big lump in her throat. "I'll be there as soon as possible." She hung up and went to the living room. Samara was walking her wooden dog by its leash. Her round eyes met those of her dispirited mother. She swapped the toy for two of her stuffed animals.

The toddler extended one to Sara with a toothy grin. "Duck?"

She accepted her sanguine daughter's invitation and sat across from her. As they played make-believe on the carpet, Sara felt a double reality weighing on her mind. Not only would she remigrate to her old neighborhood, but also share it with Samara in the imminent future.