She knows.Charity knew the baby in the stroller wasn’t hers. In all likelihood, she’d been in the same kind of turmoil as Rebecca, waiting for the return of her own daughter.
I shouldn’t have waited, Rebecca thought.I should have just found her and explained everything, and saved us both the past month of torture.
Either way, the time had come.
Rebecca cleared her throat before she could chicken out. Both women turned, startled to find her behind them. “Hi. Um...is anyone sitting there?” She glanced at the end of the bench.
“Help yourself.” Charity scooted closer to the middle and tugged her stroller along with her.
“How old is your baby?” The other woman leaned around Charity to get a look at the child asleep in Rebecca’s arms.
“About three months.” By Grandma Janice’s best guess. Though the truth was much more complicated. Rebecca waited for Charity to look. To appear shocked or surprised by the similarity of the baby in her arms to the one in the stroller. And finally, she turned.
“Oh, she’s so tiny!” Charity smiled down at the sleeping infant, and Rebecca frowned. “I remember when Delilah was that little. Feels like yesterday, but they change so fast.”
“Yeah.” Rebecca’s nervous grip on the baby tightened, and she started to fuss. “May I see your... Delilah?”
“Of course.” Charity folded back the stroller canopy.
Rebecca gasped. “She’s so big!” In fact, the child in the stroller could no longer rightfully be called an infant. She was a toddler, wearing shoes that showed evidence of actual use.
She was a toddler who lookedjust likeErica had, in the old Essig family photos. Same dark waves. Same blue eyes. Same chubby cheeks.
“I know. Yours will be, too, before you can blink,” Charity said with another smile at the baby Rebecca held. Whom she clearly did not recognize as her own lost daughter.
“How old is Delilah?” Rebecca could hear shock echoing in her own voice, and though her thoughts were racing, neither of the other women seemed to notice anything wrong.
“Fourteen months, today,” Charity told her. “And she doesn’t seem to believe me when I tell her she’s notquiteready for the playground yet.”
Fourteen months. Rebecca stifled a groan.
The infants had presumably been the same age when they were exchanged, which meant that between the time that her sister was given to Charity Marlow and Charity’s baby was given to Rebecca,a full yearhad passed in the human world. Yet only weeks...wherever the woman in the mirror existed.
How the hell was Rebecca supposed to convince this woman that despite being born more than a year ago, her true child was only around twelve weeks old?
“May I...?” Rebecca cleared her throat again. “May I hold her?”
“Delilah?” Charity looked surprised. She glanced pointedly at the infant in Rebecca’s arms. “You seem to have your hands full at the moment.”
“Please. I...want to see what I have to look forward to.” She brushed a dark lock of hair from the baby’s forehead. “She’s my first, and I’ve never held a toddler.” Which was an outright lie. She’d held Erica nearly every day of her life, including the period of time when she’d looked exactly like the toddler sitting in that stroller.
“I...” Charity frowned. “I guess so. For a minute.”
“Here.” The other woman stood. “I’ll hold your baby for you.”
Rebecca gratefully handed the infant to the other woman, then waited while Charity unbuckled Delilah from her stroller. For a moment, she held her daughter tightly, as if somehow she sensed she might not get her back.
And that was exactly what Rebecca intended when Charity finally set the toddler in her lap. She’d planned to take off running with her long-lost sister—the only sibling she had left—and drive away, leaving the infant with its rightful mother.
Because she knew just from watching them together that Charity would never willingly make the exchange. She would never believe the truth, because she loved Delilah like her own.
Rebecca’s eyes watered as she held her sister in her lap, examining all ten of her little fingers and the dimples in her chubby knees. The toddler looked up at her with a nearly toothless smile, and those tears spilled over.
“I’m sorry.” Rebecca wiped her face with one hand, the other steadying the child on her lap. “She’s just so beautiful.” And happy. Becca’s sister—now named Delilah—was happy. She was healthy. She was loved.
And unlike Charity’s biological daughter, Delilah was old enough to know her mother. To depend upon Charity specifically. To smile in response to her voice and reach up for her with both hands.
Which was why, as she blinked away fresh tears, Rebecca gave her sister back to Charity Marlow. To the only mother she’d ever known. “Thank you,” she said. “She’s a lovely, sweet child. And I’m glad she has you.”
