Now that it’s time, I feel sick to my stomach.

A million what-if possibilities run through my mind.

What if she doesn’t want to see me?

What if she slams the door in my face?

What if she says that she doesn’t know what I’m talking about?

I’d spend the rest of the day reading stories about adopted children finding their parents.

In some cases, they are happy to see them but in most they aren’t. Maybe it’s just this website’s bias (the people who are using it to vent about their problems) but I try to prepare myself for the worst case scenario. She could say that I’m mistaken and that she wants me to leave her property.

Air bursts out of me before I even realize that I’ve been holding my breath.

“Okay, stop catastrophizing. Just drive,” I say to myself out loud.

I turn onto a road going up into the mountains, first winding its way past a mobile home community.

I glance at the phone.

Her house is still a little bit further. When I drive a little too slow, the car behind me beeps. There isn’t anywhere to pull over to let them through so I speed up.

Just around another bend is where the mansions start. I saw this when I looked at her house on my computer last night.

The car behind me turns into one gate and I continue further.

Three more houses later, and I turn into her driveway.

There’s an intercom next to a beautiful modern oak gate. I’m too far away from it to reach it from my car, so I’m forced to put it in park and climb out.

I look at the buttons.

Despite how much I’ve examined this house from satellite, somehow I haven’t considered the fact that I could be turned away even before I actually get to see her.

My heart starts to beat erratically.

If whoever answers isn’t her and they don’t let me in, what do I do then?

I tap my fingers on my thigh. Then without pressing any buttons, I get back inside and close the door.

I don’t know what to say and I can’t press that button until I do.

I sit in the car for some time trying to figure everything out.

For some reason, it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t see her open the door.

Why not? I had so much time to think everything through.

I thought that I would at least have that even if the entire conversation went to shit.

And now?

What if someone else answers the door?

What do I say to them?

A loud beep startles me.

“Can I help you?” someone asks.

I stare at the intercom through my open window, unable to move an inch.

“Excuse me? Can you hear me?”