Luke’s voice cut through the silence. “So your solution is to abandon her? A newborn? Your own daughter?”
Rachel looked down, ashamed. “Maybe someone else can take her. A couple who wants a girl.”
That was it. Something in me broke. “Get out,” I said quietly. “Get out until you remember what it means to be a mother.”
Rachel reached for me, crying, but Luke stepped in. “You heard her,” he said. “Leave. Before you say something you’ll regret.”
The next few days were a blur—diapers, tears, disbelief. My boys came to the hospital, each wanting to hold their cousin. Jack, the oldest, cradled her like treasure. “She’s perfect,” he said. “We should keep her, Mom.”
And that’s when I knew. If Rachel and Jason couldn’t love this child, I would. I already did. I named her Kelly.
Weeks passed. No word from Rachel. Then, one rainy night, I opened the door to find her on my porch. Hollow-eyed. Her wedding ring gone.
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