Doc Martinez. The name hit me like a wave. He'd been my mother's doctor for fifteen years. Had been the one to find the lump, order the tests, sit across from us in that small exam room and deliver the news that changed everything. I remembered the way he'd held her hand while he explained the diagnosis, his voice steady and kind, never rushing, giving her space to fall apart. He'd been at her funeral too. Had stood in the back, hadn't approached me, but I'd seen him there. Paying his respects to a patient he couldn't save.
We waited for twenty minutes before he arrived
I recognized his face the moment he walked through the café door. The same kind expression, the same steady hands, the same unhurried way of moving that I remembered from my mother's appointments.
He crossed the café with his worn leather medical bag and stopped in front of me, his eyes moving from my face to the baby in my arms.
"Lucy." His voice was the same. Warm and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. "It's good to see you."
I couldn't meet his eyes. Looking at him meant remembering those appointments, the slow decline, the hope that kept shrinking until there was nothing left. But he didn't push. He just set his bag on the nearest table and pulled out a stethoscope.
"May I?"
I nodded and let him take Gabrielle. I already knew what I would name her, and the reason ran deep within me, from my arms, watched him lay her gently on the table and begin his examination. His hands were sure and gentle, moving with the confidence of someone who'd done this thousands of times. Joanna hovered nearby, and Cal stood close enough that I could feel the warmth of him at my back.
"She's healthy," Doc Martinez said after a few minutes. "Good weight, good reflexes. Probably born within the last twenty-four hours. Someone took care of her before they left her at the station. She's clean, she's been fed." He wrapped her back up in thestation blanket, lifted her against his chest. "Whoever left her wanted her to be safe."
"Can I—" My voice caught. "Can I keep her?"
Doc Martinez looked at me the way he used to look at my mother when she asked questions she was afraid to hear the answers to.
"The emergency foster process isn't simple," he said carefully. "There's paperwork, background checks, home visits. The state has procedures."
"I know. But can I?"
He was quiet for a moment. Then he handed Gabrielle back to me, and I saw something shift in his expression. Something that looked like recognition.
"Your mother would be proud of you," he said softly.
The words hit me somewhere deep. I felt tears prick my eyes, felt my throat close up. Today of all days. The anniversary of losing her, and here was this man who had known her, who had tried to save her, telling me she'd be proud. And it felt like a confirmation from fate.
"She'll need to go to the hospital tonight for observation—standard protocol. But I'll make some calls. If everything checks out, I can have you approved as an emergency placement by tomorrow morning." He put a hand on my shoulder. "You're not alone in this, Lucy. This town takes care of its own."
He stepped away to make calls.
A social worker arrived an hour later with forms and questions. The social worker, a tired woman named Patricia who looked like she'd seen everyversion of this story, explained emergency placement in terms that washed over me.
Temporary custody. Background check. Home study.
"You understand this isn't adoption," Patricia said, not unkindly. "Emergency foster placement is a bridge. The goal is always reunification with biological family, if possible."
"And if there's no family?"
She studied my face for a long moment. "Then we talk about other options. But that's months away, Ms. Moreno. Years, possibly. Are you prepared for that uncertainty?"
I looked down at Gabrielle, asleep in my arms, her tiny fingers still curled around the fabric of my shirt.
"Yes," I said. "I'm prepared."
I held Gabrielle the whole time, refusing to set her down even when my arms ached. When they finally took her to the hospital for overnight observation, I stood in the parking lot and watched the ambulance pull away, and something in my chest cracked open.
"First thing tomorrow," Doc Martinez promised. "I'll call you the moment she's cleared."
She was mine now. I'd decided. And nothing was going to change that.
"The application will need your legal name," Doc Martinez said carefully. "For background checks, fingerprinting. Whatever name you've been using here, the state needs the real one."
I nodded, my throat tight. Lucy Delgado. Thename on my teaching license, my social security card, the life I'd left behind. Evan knew that name. But if I wanted Gabrielle, I'd have to use it.
