Melissa called just after breakfast on Monday.
I was packing Noah's lunch when my phone vibrated against the kitchen counter. James was upstairs looking for a missing shoe, and the boys were arguing about whose turn it was to choose the music in the car.
I answered with one hand still holding a sandwich.
"Hello?"
"Claire, it's Melissa. Do you and James have a few minutes to talk?"
My stomach tightened.
"Yes. Is something wrong?"
"No. We have an update about Lily's placement."
I set the sandwich down.
"Go ahead."
Melissa explained that the case team had reviewed our assessment and Rebecca's initial evaluation. Both households appeared capable of offering a safe environment, but the team had identified some important differences in their circumstances.
Rebecca was willing to care for Lily and had a meaningful biological connection through her father. However, she had not previously cared for an infant and would need additional support while adjusting to the demands of a newborn. Her family was also still discussing the long-term implications of taking in another child.
Our assessment had been positive. We had experience raising three children, a stable home, and a clear support plan. The team believed we could provide immediate care while the longer-term legal questions were resolved.
I gripped the edge of the counter.
"Does that mean you're choosing us?"
"It means we're recommending your family for temporary placement, subject to the final authorization."
I closed my eyes.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Melissa continued explaining the remaining steps. We would need to complete additional paperwork, attend a briefing on Lily's medical and feeding needs, and coordinate with the hospital. If everything proceeded as expected, she might be able to leave the hospital with us within the next few days.
I thanked Melissa, then stood motionless after ending the call.
The kitchen seemed suddenly unfamiliar. The refrigerator hummed. A spoon rested beside the sink. A thin stripe of sunlight crossed the table.
I had wanted this news so badly that I had forgotten how frightening it might feel to receive it.
James came downstairs holding a sneaker.
"Who was that?"
I looked at him.
"They're recommending us."
He stared.
"For Lily?"
I nodded.
He set the sneaker down and crossed the kitchen in three quick steps. His arms closed around me, and I pressed my face against his shoulder.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then James whispered, "She's coming home."
"Not yet," I reminded him.
He drew back.
"Right. Not yet."
I touched his cheek.
"But we're one step closer."
That morning, we told the boys the news. Ethan listened carefully while James explained that the authorities were considering placing Lily with us temporarily. Ben immediately asked whether the baby would sleep in the spare room. Noah wanted to know whether he could help choose her pajamas.
Ethan's reaction was quieter.
"Does this mean she's going to stay?"
I sat beside him.
"It means we have permission to care for her while the authorities work out the longer-term plan. We hope she'll stay, but we can't promise that yet."
He nodded slowly.
"Then I want to help."
I wrapped my arm around his shoulders.
"You already are."
The next two days passed in a blur of practical preparation. We bought a properly fitted crib, a car seat, diapers, bottles, and basic newborn supplies. James installed the crib while I checked the instructions and sorted the clothes we had kept in storage.
The yellow blanket Anna had chosen was not among them. Patricia had mentioned it, but the hospital had not located it, and we didn't know whether it had been left at Anna's home or packed with her belongings.
I asked Melissa about it.
She promised to check.
Meanwhile, we learned as much as possible about Lily's routine. The hospital staff explained her feeding schedule, how much milk she was taking, and what signs would require medical attention. She had been gaining weight appropriately and had no known major medical concerns.
I listened closely, writing everything down.
James practiced securing the car seat until the straps sat correctly. I arranged the changing supplies in a basket and placed a small lamp beside the rocking chair.
When I stepped back to look at the room, the sight made me unexpectedly emotional.
It wasn't elaborate. The walls were still the same pale cream color, and the curtains had been chosen years earlier for a room that had never become a nursery.
But the crib stood near the window, and a folded pink blanket rested at the foot of the mattress.
For the first time, the room looked as though someone might actually sleep there.
On Wednesday morning, Melissa called again.
"The authorization has come through," she said. "If you're ready, Lily can be discharged tomorrow."
I sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Tomorrow?"
"Yes. We'll arrange a final meeting at the hospital and go through the placement documents."
I looked toward the doorway, where James had appeared after hearing my voice.
He understood immediately.
"Tomorrow," I whispered.
His face changed.
"Tomorrow."
That night, neither of us slept particularly well.
I woke twice to check the time and once because I thought I heard a baby crying. The sound turned out to be the wind moving against the bedroom window.
At six in the morning, I gave up trying to sleep and went downstairs.
I made coffee, then stood in the nursery doorway.
The crib was empty.
The room smelled faintly of fresh wood and the laundry detergent I had used on the sheets. I placed one hand on the railing and imagined Lily lying there, her tiny body curled beneath a blanket.
I wondered whether she would sleep easily, whether she would cry for hours, and whether I would know what to do when she did.
Then I remembered the doctor's warning from years earlier.
I had been told that another pregnancy could kill me. That sentence had closed a door in my life so firmly that I had stopped imagining what might lie beyond it.
Now I was preparing to bring home a baby without having carried her.
The distinction was enormous, but so was the responsibility.
James found me standing beside the crib.
"You're going to be wonderful with her," he said.
I gave him a skeptical look.
"You're not allowed to promise things you can't know."
He smiled faintly.
"Then I'll say this. We'll learn together."
That was better.
At the hospital the following afternoon, the discharge nurse walked us through Lily's care instructions one final time. Melissa was there with the placement paperwork, and a second nurse checked the car seat before allowing us to leave.
I held Lily while James gathered the bags.
She was awake, looking vaguely annoyed by the bright lights. Her dark hair curled around the edges of her cap, and her mouth moved as though she were trying to form a complaint.
"Hello, Lily," I whispered.
Her fingers opened against my sweater.
The nurse smiled.
"She's ready for her next adventure."
I felt my eyes sting.
We signed the final documents and listened as Melissa reminded us that the placement was temporary and would be reviewed regularly. We were responsible for Lily's daily care, but the authorities retained oversight while the case remained open.
I nodded, absorbing every word.
Then I carried Lily through the hospital entrance.
The afternoon air was cool, and the sky had begun to clear after a morning of rain. James opened the car door while I settled into the back seat with the baby. He checked the straps one last time before closing the door.
For several seconds, he stood beside the car, staring through the window.
I raised my eyebrows.
"Are you coming?"
He laughed softly and climbed into the driver's seat.
As we pulled away, I looked back at the hospital.
Anna had entered that building alone, frightened and in labor. She had left it in a way none of us could have imagined.
Her daughter was now traveling toward a home she had never seen.
I tightened my arms around Lily.
"Let's get you home," I whispered.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The First Cry in the Middle of the Night and the Secret That Made Our New Beginning More Complicated
The Phone Call That Dragged Me Back Toward a Future I Had Spent Years Learning to Abandon
Part 9 of 20
