Page 249 of Wild Then Wed
Wren straightens beside me, her hands twisting in her lap. I can tell she’s trying to stay calm, to keep herself from spiraling. I want to take her hand, but mine are still full. Still holding the weight of this baby who just changed everything.
Marisol’s voice is kind but steady. “Legally, Anna can’t sign any formal relinquishment documents for seventy-two hours. That’s Montana law. But if she chooses to proceed after that, and if you two decide you want to move forward, we’d begin the expedited home study process.”
Wren’s brows furrow. “But what about now? I mean…she’d be discharged soon, right?”
“Yes,” Marisol says, nodding. “We can arrange for temporary guardianship through the hospital’s legal counsel. That would allow the baby to leave with you under Anna’s written consent until the adoption is finalized.”
Wren turns to Anna then, her voice small. “But…what if you change your mind?”
Anna’s eyes fill instantly, but she doesn’t look away. “I won’t.”
She says it quietly, but it’s firm. She’s already made peace with the heartbreak of it.
Then she lets out a breath and offers a sad, wobbly smile. “But…if I wanted to come see her—you’d let me, right?” Her voice cracks. “Would you let me visit sometimes? Or just…send pictures? Letters?”
There’s a long silence. I can feel Wren beside me, frozen with the weight of it all. The weight of being asked to love and let in. To protect and stay soft at the same time.
She turns to me finally, her eyes wide, glassy. “What do we do, Sawyer?”
I don’t have an easy answer. But I know one thing. The baby stirs in my arms, and her fingers tighten around mine.
I whisper, just to Wren, “We say yes.”
Wren turns to Anna. “You couldalwaysvisit. Really. Whenever you want. You can even come stay with us. We’d want that. And we’ll send pictures all the time. Updates, anything.”
Anna lets out a breath, part relief, part grief.
“I can’t believe this is happening right now,” Wren whispers, eyes shining. “I mean—this is your baby, Anna. I just…don’t even have the words.”
I shift the baby slightly in my arms—careful, steady—and reach my free hand out, resting it gently against Wren’s back. She leans into it.
I turn toward Marisol. “So what do we do now?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “First, the hospital will still list Anna on the birth certificate—she’s the biological mother, so that’s standard. But since there’s no father listed, and she’s naming the two of you as prospective adoptive parents, we’ll initiate temporary guardianship.”
The nurse who’s been quietly standing by walks over and hands Wren a manila folder. Her hands shake a little as she takes it. Inside are several sheets of crisp white paper, a few highlighted spots already marked in yellow.
“That’s the birth certificate paperwork,” Marisol says, gently. “Anna, you’ll fill out the first half. You’ll name the baby, and indicate your intent to place her for adoption. The second part will remain blank until everything’s legally finalized. But this way, the hospital can still process the form before discharge.”
Anna nods slowly, as if it’s finally sinking in.
Marisol turns to us. “As for the guardianship—it’s a short-term legal agreement. We’ll have you fill out a temporary custody affidavit today, which will be notarized and filed with the hospital’s legal office. It gives you permission to takethe baby home, seek medical care, make basic decisions until adoption proceedings begin. I’ll walk you through everything.”
I glance down at the baby—her lips twitch slightly, like she’s dreaming—and then back at Marisol.
Wren exhales like she’s been holding her breath for a full hour. “Okay,” she whispers. “Okay. We’re doing this.”
Marisol softens. “This isn’t something you’re meant to navigate alone. I’ll be with you through all of it. And if at any point it feels too much, we pause. Understand?”
We both nod, and for the first time since Anna spoke those two words—you two—I feel like I can breathe again.
Marisol gently lays a pen beside Anna’s tray. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Anna takes it with a small nod, her fingers wrapped tight around the barrel. She leans forward slightly and starts scribbling on a few of the forms. Her bottom lip pulls between her teeth as she moves through each line, pausing here and there like she needs to catch her breath.
Then she looks up at us. “What do you want to name her?”
Wren turns to me, startled. “We have no idea,” she says, her voice a little too fast, stunned. “We haven’t even—”
