Page 30 of His Daughter

His hand dropped. His arm fell to his side. Rain ran down his wrist and dripped from his fingertips onto my porch.

I stepped aside. He walked in. He stood in my hallway, dripping onto the hardwood, his chest rising and falling like he'd been running, and his eyes swept the room as if he were searching for her.

“She’s in the nursery.”

He nodded. “Okay. Take me to her.”

I wrapped my arms around myself and took a breath. The ringing in my ears was starting again. I swallowed past the thorn in my throat.

“Not yet. I have questions.” I could do this. "How did you find me?"

He tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. It made it hard for me to think. “The adoption agency. My lawyers got the file.”

I stiffened. He knew about the adoption.

“Will you take me to my daughter?”

His daughter. Knowing it was one thing. Hearing him claim it was something else entirely.

"Have you called the police?" I asked instead.

"No."

"I'm going to. A baby was left on my doorstep without explanation. We need to do this properly." I looked at him. "I'm not handing a child over to a stranger on a rainy night because he says he's the father."

"I'm not a stranger."

"Right now, in this hallway, with that baby in the next room, you are."

I picked up my phone and dialed.

The dispatcher asked me to state the nature of the emergency. I told her a baby was left on my doorstep. She asked when. I said last night. She paused.

"Last night, ma'am? And you're calling now?"

"I was in shock. I kept expecting the person who left her to come back. When they didn't, I…I took care of the baby. She's safe. She's been fed and bathed, and she's sleeping."

Another pause. Longer. "Officers are on their way. Please stay at the residence."

I hung up. Declan was watching me from the hallway, his arms crossed, water still pooling under his shoes. I didn't look at him. I sat on the couch and waited.

The police arrived in twelve minutes. Two officers. The man was older, broad, with a quiet authority that filled the doorway. The woman was younger — late twenties, her hair pulled tight, her notebook already open before she crossed the threshold. She scanned the room.

"Ma'am, you reported a baby found on your property?"

"Last night. Around nine. I heard crying on the porch. I opened the door, and she was there."

The female officer — her badge read Vasquez — wrote without looking up. "And the baby is currently in the home?"

"She's in the nursery. Sleeping."

"You said this happened last night." Vasquez looked at me. "Can you walk me through why you waited until now to contact us?"

I kept my hands in my lap. "I was in shock, it was raining, and the baby was soaked. My first instinct was to bring her inside and get her warm. I kept thinking whoever left her would come back. I sat up most of the night waiting. When no one came, I took care of her — bathed her, fed her, put her to sleep. I planned to call tonight." I paused. "Then he showed up."

Vasquez glanced at Declan, who was leaning against the kitchen doorframe. She looked back at me. "And you know this man?"

"Yes."