I reached for her before I could stop myself.
Cal transferred the baby into my arms, careful and gentle, his hands guiding mine until I was holding her properly, supporting her head the way you were supposed to. She was so light. So impossibly light, like holding a bundle of feathers, like holding a dream.
"I'm supposed to wait for CPS at the station," Cal said quietly, his eyes on Gabrielle. "There's a whole protocol. Forms, calls, chain of custody." He paused. "But when I saw her, I thought of you. And I couldn't wait."
Her tiny little fingers curled into my shirt like she already knew she was safe.
The tiny bundle of life stopped crying; it was as if I had been chosen as her safe space.
Just like that, between one breath and the next, she went quiet. Her eyes were still closed, her face still scrunched, but the wailing had faded to soft, hiccupping breaths. She pressed closer to my chest, seeking warmth, seeking comfort.
Seeking me.
Cal watched me hold her. I could feel his eyes on my face, could see something in his expression I couldn't understand completely. Wonder, maybe. Or hope. Or something else entirely, something that made my heart do strange things in my chest.
He stepped in behind me. Close enough that I could feel the heat of him at my back. Close enough that his voice was low, meant only for me.
"She needs a mother," he said. His voice was rough. A growl, almost. "And she found one."
The café disappeared.
The anniversary disappeared. The grief, the loneliness, the endless weight I'd been carrying, all of it faded into the background until there was nothing left but this. This baby in my arms. This tiny, perfect, abandoned scrap of life who had no one in the world except the strangers who'd found her.
Then she finally opened her eyes to see me.
They were dark, unfocused, the way newborn eyes always were. She couldn't see me, not really. Newborn babies can't. The realization that shecouldn't know who I was, or what I was feeling in that moment, was what finally made me fall. I started crying, tears streaming down my face without permission.
But she was looking in my direction. And her fingers were still curled in my shirt.
I understood, in that moment, what my mother had always known. What she'd tried to teach me and I'd been too afraid to learn.
You couldn't protect yourself from loss by refusing to love. All you did was guarantee that you'd already lost.
My mother had loved fiercely, completely, without reservation. She'd loved my father even though he'd left. Loved me even though I'd disappointed her a thousand times. Loved Mateo like a son even though she'd known she might have to watch me lose him.
And when she was dying, she hadn't regretted any of it. Hadn't wished she'd loved less to hurt less. She'd just held my hand and told me she was proud, and slipped away with a smile on her face.
Show up,she'd always said.Love anyway. Fight for the people who need fighting for.
This baby needed someone to fight for her.
And for the first time in a year, I felt like I might be strong enough to do it.
"I'll do it. I’ll take care of her."
The words came out before I'd fully thought them through. Cal's eyes widened. Behind me, I heard Joanna make a small sound.
"I'll be her foster parent," I clarified, totally certain of my decision. "Whatever paperwork needs to happen, whatever process, I'll do it."
"Lucy." Cal's voice was careful. He hadn't expected me to make a decision so quickly, even after saying she could be mine. "You don't have to decide right now. There are systems for this, procedures. We can find her a placement?—"
"No." I held the baby tighter, felt her snuggle against my chest. I had to protect her. "She's been abandoned once. She's not going to be passed around like she doesn't matter. I'll take her."
Cal looked at me for a long moment. I couldn't read his expression, couldn't tell if he thought I was being brave or crazy or some combination of both.
Then he nodded. Pulled out his phone.
Cal pulled out his phone. "Doc Martinez helped set up the safe haven protocol at the station. He'll know what to do."
