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I kneel beside my daughter and gently smooth the wisps of hair away from her face and behind her ears. Bend and kiss her.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Sorry for leaving her. Sorry for not keeping her the very second she left my body. I know I had no choice, but I don’t know how I’ll ever fully forgive myself.
How do I learn to be a good mother?
You love her unconditionally. You teach her. And if there was anything your parents did that was wrong or hurtful…you do the opposite.
What had my parents done that I hated?
Used me.
Treated me like an object.
Hit me when I annoyed them and downplayed my fears.
I guess it honestly wouldn’t be that hard to do better.
I can do this.
I want brothers and sisters for Ivy, too. A part of me wonders ifhedoes.
Aleks isn’t like a regular guy you’d meet that might, say, coach Little League or teach them how to drive a car.
The two of us, both me and Ivy, are in a world that’s totally new. While Aleks says we’ve fast-tracked life, we have a lot to make up for. Maybe evolution or God or whatever made the gestation period for human children nine months to give our brains time to adjust to theconceptof a helpless life-form fully dependent on us. I never let myself mentally prepare, because I knew I wasn’t going to be able to keep her.
To be honest, I’ve hardly gotten used to the concept of having ahusband.
Ivy rolls over, her cheeks rosy, and sprawls out on the bed. She looks like a little angel.
Soon, we’ll interview nannies. Aleks says his family’s eager to spend more time with me. Get to know me. I guess my white-knuckled wedding day didn’t really count.
I finally pull myself away from Ivy so she can rest and tiptoe noiselessly back into our bedroom. Aleks is still fast asleep.
Outside the window, the winter-swept horizon’s filled with bare trees, the branches sparse. When I look closer, though, I can see the tiniest hint of buds on the branches outside this window. The sun is beginning to peek through clouds, as each day we marchcloser to spring, we get more and more sunlight. It feels like a sign. Hopeful. Still dark and cold but there’s promise of life in the air.
I stretch and do some early morning yoga, my face toward the sun, content for now in the knowledge that my husband’s here with me and there’s hope for him yet, and my daughter’s safe in the other room.
I stand and stretch, then notice a small notebook beside Aleks’s phone on the bedside table.
Curious, I do a little…investigating, you might say.
Pay off mortgage.
College funds for the other kids.
Anonymous donor.
Isaac and Abigail Brooks.
There’s a series of routing and account numbers below their names.
My hand flies up to my mouth to stifle a gasp when I realize what I’m seeing. So many zeroes…
My phone lights up. I look from Aleks to the phone and back again.
“What did you do?” I whisper.
I tap on the phone and my eyes widen when I see a message from Ivy’s foster mom, Abigail.
