Chapter 1 - The Baby on the Stage
The woman in the front row called my baby proof of my bad choices.
Then the university president pulled a white envelope from his jacket, and her smile disappeared.
Until that moment, I had thought the hardest part of graduation would be walking across the stage without crying.
I was wrong.
My name is Bea Marie Ramos.
I was twenty-two, graduating magna cum laude from St. Jude State University with a degree in elementary education.
And I had forty-three pesos in my bag.
A babysitter wanted a hundred.
That was why three-month-old Liam was sleeping in my arms beneath a red blanket while five hundred people watched me climb the stairs.
I had almost stayed home.
At six that morning, I stood beside my bed with my graduation gown hanging from a nail and Liam fussing against my shoulder.
“You worked four years for this,” I whispered.
He quieted, his little fist caught in my collar.
So I washed my face, warmed his bottle, and went.
Inside the hall, families waved flowers and raised phones.
My classmates searched the crowd for their parents.
I kept my eyes on the program.
There was no one to search for.
“Bea Marie C. Ramos.
Bachelor of Elementary Education.
Magna cum laude!”
Applause rose.
I stood, settled Liam securely against my chest, and walked toward the stage.
Then people noticed him.
The clapping thinned.
Whispers took its place.
A girl near the aisle leaned toward her friend.
“Seriously?
She couldn’t leave him home?”
I climbed the first step.
That was when Doña Carmina spoke.
She sat in the front row wearing diamonds large enough to pay my rent for years.
“Look at that girl,” she said.
“She brought proof of her bad choices right onto the stage.”
Several people laughed.
“Just like her mother.
Irresponsible.
Never going to amount to anything.”
I stopped breathing.
My mother had scrubbed office floors until the skin split across her knuckles.
She had once walked home in the rain because bus fare bought me a notebook instead.
She had been dead for six weeks.
I wanted to turn around.
Instead, I bit the inside of my cheek and climbed the remaining steps.
The host reached for my diploma.
Dr. Manuel Cruz raised his hand.
“Wait.”
He took the microphone.
“May I have complete silence?”
His voice cut through the room.
Then he turned toward me.
“Bea, would you permit me to explain something?”
My throat tightened.
“What?”
“Only what you authorized me to share.
Nothing more.”
Three days earlier, I had given him permission to explain my circumstances if carrying Liam caused a problem.
I had imagined a quiet word with an usher.
Not this.
I nodded.
Dr. Cruz took out the envelope.
“Before anyone passes judgment on this graduate,” he said, “you should know that Liam is her younger brother.”
A chair scraped in the front row.
“Six weeks ago, Bea buried their mother.
Since then, she has cared for this child while completing her final teaching placement and examinations.”
Nobody laughed now.
Dr. Cruz looked toward Carmina.
“The woman you just called irresponsible left this university with documents concerning money intended for students in need.”
Carmina stood.
“Manuel.
That is enough.”
His fingers tightened around the envelope.
May you like
“No,” he said.
“It isn’t.”
