Page 248 of Wild Then Wed
Wren’s still sitting beside me, listening, her eyes fixed on Anna.
Anna swallows. “At first, the family said they understood. Said they were on board. But the closer we got, the more they started pushing back. Saying it’d be ‘confusing’ for her to know I was still around. That I should wait until she’s eighteen. Thatthey’dbe the ones to decide what’s best.”
She looks up, her eyes a little red but steady. “And maybe they thought I’d just go along with it. But I couldn’t. It didn’t feel right.”
I nod, quiet.
Wren speaks up then. “Paul, Cindy…you can’t take her?”
Anna’s parents shift awkwardly in their chairs. Paul leans forward first, clearing his throat. “My wife—”
But Cindy puts a hand on his arm and finishes for him. “I have stage three ovarian cancer,” she says. “Diagnosed six months ago. I just finished my first round of chemo.”
She gives a sad, small smile. “We’ve offered, of course. But the truth is, we’re barely managing the appointments and treatments. Bringing a baby into that wouldn’t be fair to her. Or to Anna.”
I look at her, at the way her hand still rests gently on her husband’s arm, and I don’t doubt that she means every word. That if things were different, she’d be the first to step up. That maybe she already has, in every way she could.
Anna looks between them for a beat, then shifts her gaze back to us.
“I think,” she says quietly, “I found a new family for her, though.”
Wren tilts her head, puzzled. “Who?”
Anna looks at both of us now. “You two.”
And for a moment—everything stops. The air stills. The sounds of monitors and footsteps and distant voices fall away. It’s just Wren. Me. And the baby asleep in my arms.
Wren whips her head toward me, her eyes wide and blinking like she’s not sure she heard right.
I feel it too—that jolt, that disoriented tilt of the room. My arms instinctively tighten around the baby, like maybe if I hold her a little closer, this moment will make more sense.
Us?
She’s askingus?
Wren stares at me like she’s trying to read my mind, like maybe I’ve got an answer she doesn’t yet. But I don’t. My brain is still catching up. The only baby things we own are in Violet’s room—and most of them are still in boxes. We don’t even have a car seat. Or bottles. Or diapers. Or formula.
Wren’s voice breaks through the pounding in my ears. “But…us?” she says softly. “Why us?”
Anna laughs, but there’s a crack in it. The kind that comes from a place too full to hold in.
“Whynotyou?” she says. “You have everything a social worker could possibly ask for. You’re financially stable, emotionally grounded…and you already love her. I can see it.”
She looks at Wren then, her eyes glassy. “And I’ve known your family long enough to know she’d be safe. She’d be loved. You two would be the best parents.”
I look back down at the baby in my arms. Her lips twitch in her sleep, her lashes resting soft against her cheeks. And then I glance up at Anna again.
“But how does that work?” I ask. “We can’t just…walk out of here with her, right? I mean there’s got to be some sort of system in place.”
As if on cue, the door swings open and a nurse steps in, followed by a woman with dark waves pulled into a low bun and a warm, open expression. She’s wearing navy scrubs beneath a hospital-issued cardigan and a badge clipped to her shirt that saysMarisol Alvarez, LCSW.
She steps fully into the room, offering a gentle smile. “And that’s where I would come in. Hello, I’m Marisol—I’m the hospital’s perinatal social worker. I’m here to help guide you through next steps if Anna’s planning to place the baby with you, which from the little bit I just heard, it sounds like that’s what she’s wanting.”
She turns to Anna first. “Hey, sweet girl. You’re doing really well. I’m glad to see you smiling.”
Anna gives her a tired nod, and Marisol turns her focus to me and Wren.
“So I’ve heard a little bit about what’s going on. I know this is all fresh and emotional, but I want to walk you throughwhat it would realistically look like if the two of you arereallyconsidering adoption.”
