Page 24 of His Daughter

Rain dripped from the blanket onto the hallway floor. My shirt was wet where she pressed against me. She was warm despite the rain. A few months old at most.

And then the crying stopped.

She curled into me. Her tiny fist found the collar of my shirt and grabbed on. Her cheek pressed against my collarbone. She let out a shuddering breath, and then she was still.

This was actually real. I wasn’t having a psychotic break or anything. There was an actual baby in my arms.

I need to call the police. Ummm…I need to call 911.

I should put her down, pick up the phone, and do the responsible, official, correct thing.

What would I even say to them? Maybe if I checked her blanket for any note, I’d be able to give the police more information.

I shifted her weight, adjusted her in my arms. I pulled the wet blanket away from her skin, and her wrist turned up. Right there, on the inside of her left wrist, was a small, dark mark in the shape of a heart.

My hand stopped. I knew this mark. I'd traced this mark with my fingertip a hundred times.

Baby girl. Heart-shaped birthmark on the inside of her left wrist.

My knees gave. I sank onto the couch, the baby still pressed against my chest, and my hand was shaking so badly I had to press it flat against her back to make it stop. My heart was pounding. The room was tilting. I pulled the blanket away from her wrist and looked again.

The birthmark was still there.

This was her. This was the baby. The baby for whom I built the nursery.

But how? How was this possible? The birth mother changed her mind. That was three months ago. What in God’s name was going on?

I looked at the baby. She was asleep now. Her lashes were dark against her cheeks. Her mouth was a small, soft bow. She looked nothing like anyone I knew and exactly like someone I'd been waiting for.

I didn't call the police. Not yet. I told myself I'd call in the morning. I told myself I just needed a minute. I told myself I was being responsible — get the baby warm, dry, calm before involving anyone.

The truth was simpler. I was holding the child I was supposed to have, and I couldn't let go.

I noticed something in her blanket. I pulled it free with one hand, and a piece of paper fell out. A note, just as I thought. I read it quickly, “She's yours now. I'm sorry.” That was it. Nothing helpful. Nothing to tell me what was going on.

I got up carefully. The baby stirred but didn't wake. I walked to my bedroom, opened the nightstand, and found the key underneath the book I wasn't reading. I carried the baby down the hall and stood in front of the nursery door.

The first thing I did when Caleb and I returned from Janet’s office was to lock this door. But now…now I had to do the one thing I swore I’d never do.

I slipped the key into the lock and turned. It clicked. I pushed the door open. I braced myself, but nothing came. Maybe because the child the room was meant for was right here in my arms.

I took off her blanket and tossed it to the side, then dressed her in warm clothes from the baby drawer in the corner, before I laid the baby in the crib. Her body settled onto the mattress, and I pulled the blue blanket Caleb and I bought over her, and for three seconds, she was still.

Then her face scrunched. Her mouth opened, and a sharp wail escaped. I picked her up before the second cry was finished. She pressed against my chest, and the crying stopped again.

I glanced from the crib to the daybed pushed against the far wall. I’d set it up months ago, back when I imagined I’d be the one sleeping here night after night.

I pulled the blanket from the crib and lay down on the daybed with the baby on my chest. I draped the blanket over both of us. Her breathing slowed, and her fist relaxed.

We slept.

I woke up with the baby still on my chest. It was no longer raining. Her fist was still loosely curled around my collar, holding on even in sleep.

Then reality came in.

I needed to act. I needed to call someone. But first, I had to give her a bath and deal with the wet clothes from last night.

I got up carefully, easing her onto the daybed and surrounding her with pillows. She stirred, whimpered, then settled.