Tristan’s Choice follows the life Shiloh, and his son Tristan fifteen years after Tristan’s birth. Shiloh along with his wife Moselle is doing a great job of raising Tristan, and his sisters. Although, Moselle is not Tristan’s birthmother, anyone observing from the outside would never know, because she loves and treats him as her own.
All is going well for Shiloh, Tristan, and their family until one day when a knock on the door changes everything. Tristan opens the front door, and finds himself standing face to face with a stranger who turns out to be his birthmother, Angela. Angela has returned after fifteen years to claim her son at the prompting of her boyfriend Leroy who has recently been released from jail and believes that he is Tristan’s father. Will Angela succeed at uprooting Tristan’s life, or will Shiloh prevail at keeping his family together?
Twelve years later . . .
“I’ll get it Mom!” Tristan yelled to Moselle.
At age fifteen, he was the spitting image of his father. He stood five foot eleven inches tall with the same mahogany brown skin tone, full lips, and slender nose. The only feature possessed by Tristan that wasn’t his father’s, were his piercing brown eyes. The attentive way Shiloh groomed Tristan made sure Tristan was on his way to becoming just as conscientious as himself.
Moselle and Shiloh often left Tristan in charge of his younger eleven-year-old twin sisters, Maya, and Amelia when they had a date night; a responsibility Tristan took seriously.
A few seconds later Moselle heard the alarm system chime as the front door opened, but she didn’t hear Tristan announce the visitor. “Who is it, Tristan?”
When he didn’t respond, Moselle called out from the laundry room, “Tristan, I asked who is at the door?”
She knew that although he was only fifteen, Tristan was her most dependable child. When she got no response the second time, Moselle became concerned. She looked at Amelia who was helping her out and then placed the clean clothes in her hands back into the dryer and headed to the door.
Just as she turned the corner from the kitchen into the hallway leading to the foyer, she heard Maya say, “I think it’s his mother.”
Tristan stood face to face with a woman whose eyes mirrored his. He heard Moselle ask who was at the door but for the life of him, he couldn’t answer.
“May I help you?” Moselle’s voice sounded from behind Tristan. And then, he felt her hands on his shoulders as she moved him and stood between him and the stranger at the door.
“Yes, I’m here to see my son.” The woman’s voice and stance became aggressive.
“I think you have the wrong house.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. She observed Moselle for a second and then settled her gaze on Tristan.
“Wrong house? No, I don’t think I have the wrong house. My name is Angela Pritchard and I’m Tristan’s mother.”
Moselle tilted her head to the side and stared at, Angela for a minute. If the woman was Angela, Moselle tried to fathom how, she had found them. Furthermore, how did she muster the audacity to show up at their home after fifteen years claiming to be a mother.
“I don’t know who you are or how you think you know my son, but I’m afraid you’re sadly mistaken. You see I’mTristan’s mother. And I suggest you get off my property right now before I call the police.” This time, Moselle’s posture matched, Angela’s.
“Yes, really,” Moselle took a step toward, Angela. At the same time, the twins Maya and Amelia placed themselves in front of their brother.
Angela smirked at the protective bravado shared between Moselle and her daughters.
Tristan knew his sisters would fight for him in a heartbeat, but he had just seen a side of Moselle he had never seen before. He knew she could be protective of her children, and it made him feel safe. Yet, he had a curiosity about the woman at the door.
Shiloh and Moselle never hid the fact that he had a birthmother out there somewhere. Although, he figured out he was abandoned at birth, his parents didn’t put Angela down.
“Maya, Amelia, and Tristan; you three go on into the laundry room and finish emptying the dryer for me. I’ll be there in a minute.” Moselle spoke without taking her eyes off, Angela.
She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. “Let me explain something to you,” she said to Angela. “You come here claiming to have given birth to Tristan. But you decided you didn’t want him the minute you disappeared from the hospital without a word to, Shiloh. Now, I’m the one who loves him. I’m the one raising him, so what you’re not going to do is show up at my door fifteen years later and disrupt his life.”
“You may have been raising Tristan but as his birthmother, I have a right to see my son.”
Moselle squinted, “You gave up your rights, Angela. I’ve adopted Tristan and he’s, my son. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time to leave my property and stay away from my son or I will have you arrested for trespassing.”
Angela gave Moselle a head to toe once over and then turned on her heels and headed to her car. As Moselle watched her drive off, she knew her advice had fallen on deaf ears. The look of insolence in Angela’s eyes, told Moselle this was only the beginning.