He stared down at her for a few seconds, completely still.
Then his face went pale, all the color draining out of it at once, the same way I’d once seen it drain out during the worst week of our mother’s illness, years earlier.
“Desmond?” I asked, my voice rising with something between confusion and fear. “Is everything okay?”
He cleared his throat, still staring down at the baby, his hands visibly starting to shake around her tiny weight.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I can’t take her home.
PART 3
My voice came out trembling. “Desmond, she’s your daughter. What’s going on?”
He looked directly at Renee first, something desperate and apologetic in his expression, then turned to look straight at me.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, “but I have to give up the baby. I’m not taking her with me.”
He placed Nora gently back into my arms, his hands still shaking, and stepped back from the bed like he needed physical distance from what he’d just done.
Renee’s eyes filled instantly with tears. “Why,” she demanded, her voice climbing toward something close to a scream. “Why can’t we take our daughter home, Desmond? Tell me right now.”
