CHAPTER 22
Naomi steppedinside the house and let the familiar sounds wrap around her—the low murmur of voices from the kitchen, the soft tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
Good Boy ran toward the door as if he’d been waiting for her. She gave him a head rub as a reward.
But even with all those comforts, the note’s words followed her inside anyway.
DON’T TAKE WHAT’S NOT YOURS
She pushed the thought away and went to find the baby.
Grace was asleep in the bassinet her mom had moved into the living room. The late afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting everything in soft gold. Her mom sat in the rocking chair nearby.
“Hey,” Naomi said quietly from the doorway.
Her mom looked up and smiled. “Hey, yourself. How’d it go?”
Naomi could tell her mother about the note left on her windshield. About the way her hands had shaken when Micah pulled it out from under the wiper. About the warning written there.
But what would that accomplish? Ruby would worry. She would want to do something, fix something, and there was no action to take now except wait.
“Just fine,” Naomi said.
Ruby’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t push. “Good.”
Naomi crossed the room and looked down at Grace. The baby was on her back, arms stretched above her head in that surrendered way newborns slept.
She looked completely trusting and vulnerable.
Naomi realized in the short time she’d been away, she’d missed her.
Don’t get too attached.
The thought surfaced automatically, a reflex she’d been trying to train herself in since the day Grace arrived. This was temporary. Emergency placement. Nothing permanent. Nothing guaranteed.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Millie appeared. Her expression looked serious—not exactly worried but careful.
Naomi’s stomach tightened. “What is it?”
Millie stepped closer. “I just wanted to let you know that someone called. About the dog.”
The words landed like stones.
Naomi knew what was coming before Millie said it. She’d known from the beginning this was a possibility. Dogs didn’t just appear out of nowhere. They belonged to someone. They had homes.
But knowing didn’t make it easier.
“He says it’s his dog,” Millie continued. “He’s been out of town for a week, and apparently his dog sitter isn’t answering her phone. He saw the post and recognized the dog immediately.”
“When?” Naomi stopped and cleared her throat. “When does he want to pick Good Boy up?”
“Two days. He’ll be back in town then.”
Two days.
Naomi looked down at Grace, still sleeping peacefully in her bassinet, and felt the weight of the loss press down on her.
She’d known better. She’d told herself not to get attached. Had reminded herself a dozen times that the dog wasn’t hers, that someone would come for him eventually, that keeping him was never part of the plan.
