James continued.
“The hospital social worker explained what happens next.”
“What happens?”
“Temporary placement while they search for relatives and determine guardianship.”
He looked at the glass.
“They don’t think there are any relatives.”
I knew what was coming now.
Still, when he said it, it felt enormous.
“I want us to ask to be considered.”
I stared at him.
“For what?”
He looked at me.
“For her.”
My eyes filled immediately.
“James.”
“I know.”
His voice broke.
“I know how this sounds.”
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“No, you don’t.”
“I probably do.”
He reached toward me, then stopped himself.
“I already told the social worker I’m married. That I would never make any decision without you. That this isn’t something I get to promise on my own.”
I looked through the glass.
The bassinet was closer now.
A nurse had moved it.
Tiny face.
Dark hair.
Eyes closed.
“I want to apply for her,” James said. “Whatever that process means. Foster placement, guardianship, adoption later if that’s possible. I want to bring her home.”
His voice dropped.
“If this is too much, tell me, and I’ll never mention it again.”
I laughed once through tears.
Not because it was funny.
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Because I finally saw what he’d been bracing for.
“You think I’m jealous?”
He said nothing.
“You thought I’d hear Anna’s name and think this was about her?”
“I didn’t know what you’d think.”
I wiped my face.
“I thought she might be your baby.”
His eyes widened.
“Okay. That’s worse.”
Despite everything, I laughed again.
Then I cried harder.
James reached for me this time.
I let him.
I kept thinking about Anna.
Not the woman James almost married.
Not the ghost of some relationship before mine.
A woman alone in a hospital bed.
Using her last clear thought to make sure her daughter didn’t disappear into the world without somebody knowing she existed.
She got one name out.
She spent it on her child.
“Can I hold her?” I asked.
James looked stunned.
The nurse smiled.
“I’ll ask.”
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in a chair with a newborn girl against my chest.
Six pounds and something.
Twelve hours old.
Hands like nothing.
Her fingers opened once against my shirt.
I stopped breathing.
James knelt beside me.
“Are you sure?”
I looked at him.
“Because if you’re not—”
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“We spent years wishing our boys could have a little sister.”
He went still.
I looked down at the baby.
“Maybe we were just waiting for the wrong miracle.”
James covered his face.
