Wearing my daughter’s jacket.
I set the basket carefully on the table and forced myself to move.
There was a diaper bag. Formula. Two sleepers. Wipes.
Whoever had left her hadn’t abandoned her carelessly—they had planned this.
The baby watched me with a serious expression, like a tiny judge.
I reached out and touched the jacket again. The left cuff was still frayed—Jennifer used to chew it when she was anxious.
My hand slipped into the pocket.
Paper.
My pulse roared in my ears, making me dizzy. I unfolded the note slowly, smoothing it out with trembling hands.
“Jodi,
My name is Andy. I know this is a terrible way to do this, but I don’t know what else to do.
This is Hope. She’s Jennifer’s daughter. She’s mine too.
Jen always said that if anything ever happened to her, Hope should be with you. She kept this jacket all these years. She said it was the last piece of home she never gave up.
I’m sorry.
There are things you don’t know. Things Paul kept from you.
I’ll come back and explain everything.
Please take care of Hope.
— Andy”
My hands began to shake uncontrollably.
“No,” I whispered. “No, Jen. No.”
For five years, I had forced myself to accept that my daughter might never come back.
And now, Hope blinked up at me.
