Artie snuggles me in his arms before heading back to the washing and peeling potatoes. I hug our daughter into my lap and open up the latest of our library finds.
I read in a soft, soothing voice while celebrity chefs drink wine and tell me seventeen new things to do with cranberry sauce in a can.
It might not seem like a lot to the rest of the world, but I would kill for this man and this child. I hope I never have to. But I would do it—and that still scares me, despite everything Mr. Minegold, Mr. Wickstaff, and the others said.
If Blase tries anything, he’ll find out how good I’ve gotten at pushing my fears aside.
Chapter Seventeen: December First
December 1st, 2025
Pine Ridge, New York
“Hey. You. Guess who got his November paycheck deposited?” Artie whispers.
“Ummmm. The sexiest computer coder in the universe?” I groan and slowly sit up. “How many times was Laurel up?”
“None. Not at all.”
My eyes fly open. “Wait, I’m groggy from getting enough sleep?” I demand.
“Yep. We’re going to celebrate. We’re going to celebrate that if we just pay the minimum on the credit card for this month—and just this month if we can help it—we have money to do some Christmas shopping.”
“Ooh!” I feel a spark of excitement, but it fades. The last time I tried to do Christmas shopping, everything went wrong.
“Annnd, it’s officially been over a month since you climbed into my car and drove off with my heart.”
“Aww, babe...”
“Laurel slept through the night.”
“You said that. What time is it?”
“Nine-thirty.”
“Oh! I have class in—”
“Thirty minutes. I know. But the baby is chilling, the laundry is running. And these came in the mail.”
Artie hands me two stiff white cardboard envelopes with a State of New York seal on the back.
Birth certificates. Mine and Laurel’s.
Laurel Imogene Taylor, born July 1st, 2025, to Arthur Phillip Taylor and Imogene Sommer Taylor.
“You named her after me?” I whisper.
“You're her mother. Of course I did. I knew she was a few days old when I found her, so I just went with the first of the month...” Artie trails off.
I wipe my eyes. “She’s mine? Really mine?”
“Yes. Legally, emotionally, and even culturally. You were a godsend, Immy.Area godsend. And since it’s the first, it means Laurel is six months old today. Well, according to the paperwork. So much to celebrate. Want to go to the mall after class? I don’t have to work until eight tonight.”
“I... Maybe after the 5th?” I whisper, ashamed that I’m still a coward, a coward who will hurt an attacker if she’s pushed, but who desperately wants to keep that part of myself locked away and prays that it withers. I never want to be a bad example for Laurel. My daughter.
“That’s fine. Well, in that case, if you don’t have to get all dressed up to go out, can you do something else after class?”
“What?”
