Page 247 of Wild Then Wed
I could sit here forever. Just watching Wren watch her.
Wren looks up at me then. “Do you want to hold her?”
I pause. Not because I don’t want to, but because I haven’t—not likethis—in a long time.
The last time I held a baby this small was Nora, years ago. Before she started sprinting everywhere in tutus and Band-Aids.
And the last baby I wasgoingto hold like this…I blink, trying not to let the thought unravel me here.
Wren’s eyes search mine, soft and knowing. “I can help you,” she says gently, like she knows the hesitation has nothing to do with the logistics and everything to do with the ghosts.
I just nod.
She stands and moves slowly. The baby’s all wrapped up in a white hospital blanket, her little bow still perfectly in place.Wren shifts her carefully into my arms, her hands guiding mine until I’m cradling her just right.
She’s so light. It barely feels like I’m holding anything at all. And somehow, at the same time, it feels likeeverything.
Wren sits beside me again, settling into the chair close enough that her knee brushes mine. She smiles down at the baby like this is the most extraordinary moment in the world.
I glance down, adjusting slightly. The baby makes a soft sound and then—like it’s muscle memory—my hand moves instinctively to hold hers.
Her entire fist curls around my forefinger without hesitation. Her fingernails are the size of rice grains. Her skin is impossibly soft.
And then, for the briefest second, her mouth shifts. A hint of a smile. Barely there.
Wren leans in, her voice low, awed. “She likes you.”
I laugh, still watching her. “Or it’s just gas.”
Wren laughs too, softly, her head resting gently against my shoulder.
But something happens in me—ishappening in me. Not loud. Not sudden. More like a slow stitching of a broken heart. Like frayed pieces of me are being pulled back together, cell by cell.
I was supposed to do this. Not with Anna’s baby. Not here. But with mine. With Violet. This moment was supposed to belong to her.
And somehow—somehow—holding this little girl doesn’t make it worse. It doesn’t hollow me out the way I thought it might.
It makes room.
Like there’s space in me again. Like maybe love didn’t rot out the whole foundation after all.
It’s not closure. I don’t think that exists. But it’s something.
I glance over at Anna. “Does she have a name yet?”
Anna sighs, slow and tired, like the question has been sitting heavy on her chest for hours. “No. The adoptive family was supposed to pick. But since they’re not in the picture anymore…she’s kind of nameless.”
I look down at the baby in my arms. Still sleeping. Still perfect.
I shake my head slightly. “What happened?”
And what I really mean is:How could anyone willingly walk away from this? From her?
From this tiny, breathing miracle?
Anna exhales and runs a hand through her hair. “I told them from the start I wanted an open adoption. That was important to me. I mean, I know I’m too young—I need to finish school, get a job, get a real footing in life. I know that. I’m not pretending I’ve got it all figured out.”
She glances down at her daughter, softening. “But I also didn’t want to just…hand her off and pretend she never happened. I want updates. Pictures. Something.”
