My hands started shaking.
“No,” I whispered. “No, Jen. No.”
After five years, I’d lost the hope that my daughter would ever come back. Now, Hope blinked 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.”
Hope blinked at me.
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“Jodi, I have work. I have a life.”
“And I have your granddaughter on my kitchen table.”
“What?” he asked.
“Come now, Paul.”
***
He came 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 left his face.
He stopped dead. “Where did you get that?”
“I have your granddaughter on my kitchen table.”
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I picked up Hope before I answered. “That was my question.”
His eyes landed on the note in my hand and slid away.
“You knew more than you let on, Paul.”
“Don’t do this.”
