I hesitated. Then, I unbuckled the carrier. I handed the baby to her father.
He held her awkwardly at first, terrified. Then, the baby grabbed his finger. Michael broke down, weeping silently into the blanket.
Six months later.
The lab was quiet, but it didn’t feel lonely anymore. I was packing up my bag at 5:00 PM—a new record for me.
I walked out of the building and hailed a cab. I wasn’t going to an empty apartment.
I arrived at Michael’s townhouse. He had filed for divorce the day after the party. He had full custody, obviously. Jennifer was awaiting trial, facing serious jail time. Her social status had evaporated faster than liquid nitrogen.
But Michael… Michael was trying. And he needed help.
I walked in. The house was messy—toys on the floor, bottles on the counter. It was beautiful.
“Auntie Caroline!”
Michael walked in, holding Lily. That was her name. Not “the baby.” Lily.
She was six months old now. She smiled when she saw me, a toothless, joyous grin.
“She’s been waiting for you,” Michael said, smiling. He looked tired, but it was a good tired. The tired of a parent who shows up.
I took Lily in my arms. She smelled of milk and baby powder—a scent better than any chemical compound I had ever synthesized.
