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—”
“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.
That was the second time I had ever seen that man cry.
Nothing became simple after that.
The legal process took nine months.
Nine long months.
There were home studies.
Background checks.
Interviews.
Court dates.
Temporary foster arrangements while our petition was reviewed.
We were not automatically entitled to anything simply because Anna had said James’s name.
That mattered.
She could
