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“I received a call from a friend I went to seminary with. Father O’Toole was called to a country church just outside of Owatonna, Minnesota.”

My mind went blank. This was not what I was expecting.

Father Hughes shifted in his seat. “A child was left in his charge. A tiny thing, not even two weeks old.”

A buzzing pulsed in my ears. There was no way I was hearing this correctly. When I’d received the priest’s voicemail this morning, asking for an urgent meeting, I was so focused on myself that I didn’t think of any other possible reason for the summons.

Not that I could have thought up this scenario in my wildest imaginings.

“Do they need a donation?” My voice cracked, overly dry from the panic.

The bushy brown brows knit together. “No, what?”

“Never mind.” I shook my head rapidly. “Continue. Sorry.”

Father Hughes tugged at his collar again. “The child is for all intents and purposes an orphan. The man who dropped him off said the mother died in childbirth.”

“Oh, no,” I croaked. The sudden rush of emotion, the misery and unfairness of life, had my eyes flickering to the oil painting. Just because the crucifixion opened the door to heaven, didn’t mean it took away the suffering in this life.

“Yes, terrible,” Father Hughes murmured. “But that’s not all. The child won’t be turned over to social services. There can’t be a record of its existence.”

Once again, a burst of blankness shot through my mind. Confusion followed closely on its heels. What the hell did this have to do with me? I bit my lip to prevent an outburst, demanding the man-of-God get to the point.

“O’Toole asked me to find a home for the child. I’m far enough away from Owatonna, but furthermore, I’m his…close friend.”

I nodded once. It was easier to pretend there wasn’t a swirling cloud of chaos in my mind.

“From our earlier interactions, conversations, and time in the confessional, I immediately thought of you.” Father Hughes smiled. “You told me just the other week how much you wanted to be a mother.”

My heart stopped. Stopped and waited. “I do. But you said I should wait for God’s timing. If there was a spouse out there, I shouldn’t go against nature’s order of things.”

“I did,” the priest let out a short chuckle. “While it was standard protocol, and I would argue solid advice to a parishioner with an aching heart, I am rethinking it in light of this turn of events. Sometimes God’s plans aren’t what we think.”

Pitter-patter said my heart.

The rush of hope was almost overwhelming.

“Not only did I think of you and your desire to be a mother above all else, but there is the fact of your rather unorthodox upbringing.” The priest gave me a pointed look.

About three months into my relocation to Carrington, overwhelmed with fear that my father would send his goons for me, and feeling guilty over abandoning my parent whom I was supposed to love and honor, I poured out my past in the confessional booth. Father Hughes heard my story, advised me to stay in Carrington, and forgave me for any guilt I felt at not being a dutiful daughter.

Since that day, we never spoke of my being born a mafia princess.

“How does that have anything to do with this?” I pressed.

Father Hughes shifted in his seat. His fingers reached for his throat, plucking a button loose. “Well, when I said the child was an orphan, it was more wishful thinking than reality. What my friend told me cannot leave this room.”

My chin bobbed automatically.

“The father is still alive, and he is not a good man. Not even a little bit,” the priest’s voice trailed off into a whisper.

The room seemed to darken. The shadows reared around us as the clouds outside veiled the sun. It might be the middle of summer, but the room was icy. My skin prickled. The urge to turn and see the ghosts haunting the space filled my limbs.

And yet one thought burst through the terror of the priest’s implication.

There was a baby out there who needed a mother.

“I’ll take the child!” I sat up straight, back snapping into an iron bar. The world could throw its horrors at me, but the knowledge that there was a little one in need of saving from the same—if not worse—fate that I nearly succumbed to drove me to defy the odds.