Chapter 1 - THE FATEFUL ENCOUNTER
The rain ran in silver threads from the diner’s rusted awning, dripping between us in a steady curtain.
For several seconds, I could only stare at the little girl in Damian Marchetti’s arms. She had stopped trembling. That frightened me more than the crying had. A minute ago she had been twisting against him, reaching toward me with desperate little hands. Now that I stood close enough for her fingers to brush the sleeve of my uniform, she seemed completely calm.
“Mama,” she whispered again.
The word slipped through me like light through a crack in a locked room. I took one involuntary step forward.
Damian’s posture changed. Not threateningly. Not exactly. But carefully. His arms tightened around the child, not to pull her away from me, but to steady her.
“Her name is Sofia,” he said.
My eyes stayed on her face. “Sofia.”
She smiled. Something inside my chest folded in on itself. It was such a small smile. Sleepy and trusting. One corner of her mouth rose a little higher than the other. I knew that smile. I had seen it before. Not on another person. On a grainy black-and-white ultrasound screen.
My hand flew to my mouth.
Damian noticed. “What?” “Nothing,” I shook my head. “That wasn’t nothing.” “I said nothing.”
Sofia reached for me again. This time, Damian looked down at her, then at me. He hesitated. I could tell men like him were not accustomed to hesitation. Then he did something I hadn’t expected. He held her out. Not carelessly. Not fully. Just enough that I could take her if I wanted.
My arms moved before my mind caught up. The instant Sofia settled against my chest, she gave a little sigh. That sound nearly brought me to my knees. Her cheek rested beneath my collarbone as if she knew the place. My body knew her weight.
That was the thought that terrified me. I had never held my babies. I had never been allowed to. And yet some deep, wordless part of me recognized the way she fit against me.
I closed my eyes. Warm curls touched my chin. Her tiny fingers curled into the fabric of my diner apron. I could smell baby shampoo, rain, and something faintly sweet. For fourteen months, I had imagined what it might have felt like to hold one of my children. Now I stood in an alley behind Rosalie’s Diner holding a little girl who looked like the baby I had dreamed about and who had called me Mama without being taught my name.
I started to cry. Not loudly. The tears just came.
Sofia lifted her head and studied me. Then she pressed her palm to my cheek. “No sad.”
Behind Damian, the alley door opened. One of his men appeared. He was tall, gray-haired, and far less intimidating than the others. “Mr. Marchetti. I found the basic employment history. Hospital information is going to take longer.”
I looked sharply at Damian. “You don’t get to investigate my medical records.” His eyes returned to mine. “You’re right.”
The answer surprised me. His man looked surprised too.
“I reacted,” Damian said quietly. “I have three children who have been nearly impossible to soothe for the last eight months. They refuse almost everyone except me. Today all three saw a stranger and called her Mama. And that stranger says she delivered triplets fourteen months ago. What hospital?”
I should not have answered. “St. Catherine’s.”
Damian’s face changed. He looked toward his gray-haired associate, who had gone very still. “That’s where they were born,” Damian said. “I was there.”
My heart slammed once. “What do you mean, you were there?” “When they were born.”
The rain sounded suddenly deafening. “Explain that.” “I will. Not here.” He opened the diner door himself.
May you like
Through the doorway, I could see every face turned toward us. Denny, my former manager, had disappeared. The two little boys sat in their stroller near the corner booth. The instant they saw me, they began wriggling against their straps. “Mama!”
My knees almost failed.
