With each step, more details came into focus—a tiny pink blanket, a little fist waving in the air, the edge of an envelope poking out.
When I looked down, my knees nearly gave out.
Inside the carrier was in fact a small baby wearing a pink onesie with tiny white elephants and a pink headband with a bow bigger than her head. She was awake, grayish-blue eyes staring up at me and her little mouth making that whimpering sound.
“What the fuck,” I whispered.
I looked around my room again, like the explanation would be written on the walls. Window was locked. Door had been closed when I came upstairs. There was no logical way a baby could’ve just…appeared.
With shaking hands, I reached into the carrier and carefully pulled out the white envelope tucked against the baby’s blanket. My name was written on the front in neat, feminine handwriting, and that made my trembling worse.
I tore it open.
Drew,
I’m sorry to do this, but I don’t have any other choice.
This is Aurora—your daughter.
I know you probably don’t remember me, but we hooked up at that party by the river last summer. Turns out condoms aren’t 100% effective.
I can’t be a mom. I’m not ready, and I don’t have the money or support to raise a baby. But I remember you talking about your family and your teammates, and I know Aurora deserves a good life. She deserves to be surrounded by people who love her.
I can’t give her that. Maybe that makes me selfish, but I just can’t.
She’s six weeks old. She’s healthy and, for the most part, a pretty good baby.
Please don’t try to find me.
I’m so sorry.
The letter wasn’t signed. There was another document in the envelope from a legal firm that revealed she’d formally revoked her parental rights, although her name was redacted for her privacy. The baby’s birth certificate was also included with my name the only one listed. The line above the word “mother” was left blank.
I read the note twice, then a third time, my hands shaking so bad I could barely hold the paper steady.
Aurora.
Mine.
Six weeks old.
I looked down at the baby—at Aurora—and she looked back at me with those grayish-blue, serious eyes.
What in the actual fuck.
ELEVEN
I stared down at Aurora, my phone clutched in my hand, thumb hovering over the group text. What the hell was I supposed to say?Hey guys, found a baby in my room. Please advise.No way. They’d think I was fucking around.
Aurora made a different sound than her earlier whimpering and her face scrunched up like she was about to cry.
“Oh, please, for the love of all things hockey, don’t cry,” I whispered.
I needed backup.
SOS. Need you guys in my room NOW.
I hit send and within a couple of minutes, I heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. I’d never been so thankful for my friends in all my life.
