I sat down, but James remained standing. For several seconds, neither of us spoke. When he finally looked at me, I knew whatever he was about to say would change our family forever.
“There’s a little girl in there,” he whispered.
My heart stopped. “What do you mean, a little girl? Whose baby?”
He swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”
I let out a breathless laugh—not because it was funny, but because my mind couldn’t process the words. “You called me to a hospital because there’s a baby here, and you don’t know whose she is?”
He looked through the nursery glass. “I know whose baby she is. She’s ours.”
I stood up so fast my chair scraped loudly against the floor. “James.”
“I know how that sounds,” he said, reaching for my hands.
I pulled away. “Are you telling me you had another child?”
“No.” Tears began streaming down his face. “She was left at the hospital this morning. No note. No name. Nothing except the clothes she was wearing.”
My anger faltered. Looking through the glass, I saw the bassinet closer than I had realized—a tiny face, a pink blanket tucked beneath her chin, and one little fist curled beside her cheek.
