“Courage,” I whispered to the first. “Truth,” I said to the second. “And Hope.”
Rachel laughed, crying.
“You’ve been saving those names for a while, haven’t you?”
“I wanted them to belong to the babies.”
Months later, we returned to the nursery prepared long before the deception surfaced. I removed Peter’s chosen decorations and hung Rachel’s three paintings instead: sunrise, a trail through green hills, and three stars over a peaceful house. Ellen and George’s yellow blanket covered one crib.
Naomi brought the completed custody order and left it on my kitchen counter.
“Keep this somewhere safe,” she said. “I hope you never need it again.”
For months, paperwork had been used to undermine my confidence in my memory. I remembered how helpless I had felt looking at signatures, dates, and labels that contradicted everything I knew. Now there was a record that reflected the facts instead of replacing them. This document recorded the opposite: the evidence proved Peter’s contracts fraudulent, and I would raise the children.
