Cold in a way that made something primal rise up inside me—fear so sharp it felt like it had teeth.
“Daniel!” I screamed.
Footsteps. Fast. Then he appeared in the doorway, half-dressed, breath caught in his chest.
He stopped when he saw the baby.
And something in his face…
It wasn’t shock.
It wasn’t confusion.
It was… stillness.
Like a man already bracing for impact.
“Call 911,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “Isobel, call 911.”
But I wasn’t listening anymore. I was wrapping the baby tighter, rubbing his back, trying to will warmth into him.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, even though my voice shook. “I’ve got you… I’ve got you…”
Behind me, Daniel paced.
“Who would do this?” he said. “Who would leave a baby like this?”
And then—
My daughter answered.
“I know who.”
Time didn’t just slow.
It snapped.
I looked up first.
Daniel turned toward her slowly, like even he was afraid of what might come next.
He forced a smile—but it didn’t reach his eyes. It never did.
“Sweetheart,” he said gently, too gently, “this isn’t a guessing game—”
“I saw.”
Her voice was small.
But it didn’t shake.
She lifted her hand.
And pointed.
