he’d moved into a rented house with a woman named Amber and left me alone in the one we’d built together, with Jennifer’s door shut tight at the end of the hall like a held breath. We were still married on paper. I just never found the energy to sign the rest of it away.
And now there was a baby on my kitchen table, wearing my daughter’s jacket like it was the only thing in the world that still belonged to her.
PART 2 — The Note
I set the basket down and made myself move before I could think too hard about it.
There was a diaper bag tucked under the blanket. Formula, two sleepers folded with more care than I expected, a stack of newborn wipes. Whoever had left her hadn’t panicked and run. This had been planned, thought through, arranged the way you arrange something you can’t
