CHAPTER 7
Naomi noticedhow Micah slowed beside her as they reached the mother-baby unit.
“You okay?” he murmured. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I can go in and there and?—”
“I’m fine.” She nodded, even though the answer felt like a lie. “It’s just nerves.”
They stopped outside a room near the end of the hall. Through the narrow window in the door, Naomi saw Sissy sitting up in the hospital bed, her face blotchy and swollen, her arms curled protectively around a tiny bundle.
Two men in dark jackets stood near the foot of the bed.
Feds.
Micah’s jaw visibly tightened. “Let me talk to them first.”
Naomi nodded as Micah stepped inside. She lingered in the doorway, waiting for permission to enter.
Micah talked to the feds before nodding to Naomi.
Gathering herself, she stepped inside. Micah and the feds gravitated toward the door, probably to give them some privacy.
Sissy looked up the moment Naomi entered, eyes wild with fear. Then she dropped her gaze back to the baby as if afraid to look away for too long.
“Oh, thank goodness, you’re here,” Sissy whispered. “You actually came.”
Naomi crossed the room slowly, her heart aching at the sight of the newborn. The infant was so small. So pink and wrinkled and utterly unaware of the chaos waiting just beyond the hospital walls.
And Sissy . . . even after all her betrayal, the woman still seemed so broken and naive with her long, blonde curls and petite features. Even pregnant, the woman couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred thirty-five pounds.
But she’d been a hundred thirty-five pounds of vindictiveness, Naomi reminded herself.
“I didn’t know who else to call. I didn’t.” Sissy’s voice cracked. “They’re taking her, Naomi. They said I can’t keep her.”
Naomi sat carefully on the edge of the chair beside the bed. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Sissy’s eyes darted toward the doorway then back to Naomi. “What did you decide? Please. Please, Naomi. I won’t ask you to keep her forever. I swear. I just—I can’t let her go into foster care. I can’t.”
Naomi glanced at the child, and her throat tightened.
The baby looked so innocent . . .
Her features were petite like Sissy’s. But she had thick black hair—just like her dad.
Could Naomi really look at this reminder of Richard every day?
“Richard doesn’t know she was born,” Sissy rushed on as if reading her mind. “I’m not going to tell him. I didn’t even tell the social worker who the father was. I said I didn’t know.”
Naomi flinched at Richard’s name, but she kept her expression steady. “I thought you loved him.”
“I do . . . but I have to keep my baby safe. That means he can’t know—for now, at least. Because if he knows, his family knows. They’ll want her. They’re the ones I don’t trust.”
“I see.” She let that information sink in.
“I’ll have her back before he ever finds out,” Sissy continued. “I promise.”
“You can’t know that.”
Sissy’s lips trembled. “He won’t. I won’t let him.”
