My name is Andy. I know this is a terrible way to do this, but I don’t know what else to do.
This is Hope. She’s Jennifer’s daughter. She’s mine too.
Jen always said that if anything ever happened to her, Hope should be with you. She kept this jacket all these years. She said it was the last piece of home she never gave up.
I’m sorry.
There are things you don’t know. Things Paul kept from you.
I’ll come back and explain everything.
Please take care of Hope.
— Andy”
My hands began to tremble.
“No,” I whispered. “No, Jen. No.”
After five years, I had let go of the hope that my daughter would ever return. Now Hope blinked up at me.
I pressed the note to my lips, then forced myself to move. I called the pediatric clinic and said I was bringing in a baby left in my care.
Then I called Paul.
He answered with, “What now, Jodi?”
“Get over here.”
“Jodi, I have work. I have a life.”
“And I have your granddaughter on my kitchen table.”
“What?” he asked.
“Come now, Paul.”
He arrived twenty minutes later. Amber stayed in the car.
Paul stepped into my kitchen, annoyed and complaining. Then he saw the jacket, and all the color drained from his face.
He stopped short. “Where did you get that?”
I picked up Hope before answering. “That was my question.”
His eyes landed on the note in my hand and slid away.
