The baby couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old. I felt the world tilt sideways.
“Whose baby is that?”
She looked down at the tiny face instead of at me. “Can we get in the car first?”
“Mom… she’s mine now.”
“Where is her mother?”
Silence. She adjusted the blanket over the baby’s head like a shield.
“Sophie. Are we taking this baby somewhere? To a hospital, to a family?”
She shook her head.
“Then why are you holding her?”
This baby was not hers.
She pulled the newborn closer to her chest, and finally, her eyes met mine.
“Mom… she’s mine now.”
Every rational thought collapsed.
I’d video-called her almost nightly. I’d seen her body.
This baby was not hers.
So whose baby had my daughter just brought to me – and why was she terrified to tell me?
“We’ll take her home.”
I opened my mouth to say exactly that, and then I stopped.
