Chapter 3 - The House of Glass
The drive home was the longest thirty minutes of my life.
James drove with both hands on the wheel,
his eyes fixed on the road,
while the infant sat in the brand-new car seat he had somehow found the time to buy.
She was tucked into the back,
silent and oblivious to the war raging in the front seat.
I stared out the window at the passing trees,
the suburban houses,
the lives of people who surely didn't have secret sisters and hidden bank accounts.
"The boys are at your mother's,"
I said,
my voice flat.
"I know,"
James replied.
"How are we going to tell them?"
I asked.
"We tell them she’s their cousin,"
he said,
"and that we’re going to take care of her for a while."
"For a while?"
I turned to look at him,
my eyes narrow.
"You think this is temporary?"
"The paperwork she signed was for permanent guardianship,"
James said,
his jaw tight,
"she wanted us to adopt her."
"Adoption,"
I repeated the word,
letting it sink in.
It was a word we had discussed years ago,
after the doctor's warning,
but James had been the one to shut it down.
He had said he didn't want to bring a stranger into our home.
He had said he wanted to focus on the three children we already had.
Now I knew why.
He wasn't waiting for a stranger;
he was waiting for her.
We pulled into our driveway,
the familiar sight of the basketball hoop and the scattered toys on the lawn feeling like a mockery.
This was a house of boys.
This was a house of mud and noise and loud laughter.
Now,
there was a pink car seat being lifted out of the SUV.
James carried her toward the front door,
his movements tentative,
as if he expected the house itself to reject him.
I followed him inside,
the silence of the empty house feeling heavy and suffocating.
He set the car seat down on the kitchen island.
The same island where I had been cleaning just hours ago,
before the phone call that changed everything.
"I'll go get the box from the garage,"
James said,
his voice low.
"The box of newborn clothes?"
I asked,
a bitter laugh escaping my lips.
"The one you refused to let me give away?"
"Yes,"
he said,
not meeting my eyes.
He walked away,
leaving me alone with the baby.
I stood there,
looking at her,
the light from the kitchen pendant reflecting in her dark hair.
She was so beautiful it hurt.
She was everything I had ever wanted,
delivered to me by a man who had broken my heart.
I reached out and unbuckled the straps of the car seat.
I lifted her out,
her weight surprising me.
She was heavy for a newborn,
solid and warm.
I held her against my chest,
the familiar scent of a baby flooding my senses.
My body remembered this.
My arms remembered the curve of a tiny spine.
My heart remembered the beat of a small,
new heart against my own.
I started to sway,
a natural instinct taking over,
rocking her back and forth in the quiet kitchen.
"I'm sorry,"
I whispered into her hair,
"I'm so sorry your mother is gone."
"And I'm sorry your uncle is a liar."
I felt a sob build in my throat,
but I forced it down.
I couldn't afford to break,
not yet.
James came back into the room,
carrying the dusty plastic bin from the garage.
He stopped when he saw me holding her.
A look of hope flickered across his face,
and it made me want to scream.
"Don't think this means I've forgiven you,"
I said,
my voice sharp as a blade.
"I am holding an innocent child because she has no one else."
"But you and I?"
"We are nowhere near okay."
He set the bin down and nodded slowly.
"I know,"
he said.
"I'll do whatever it takes,
Sarah."
"I'll give you every password,
every bank statement,
every detail of every conversation I ever had with Elena."
"You should have done that years ago,"
I said,
walking past him toward the stairs.
"Where are you going?"
he asked.
"I'm going to set up the old bassinet in the boys' playroom,"
I said.
"I'm not putting her in our room."
"I can't look at her and you at the same time."
I climbed the stairs,
each step feeling like a mile.
The boys' playroom was a mess of Legos and action figures.
I cleared a space on the floor,
moving a plastic fire truck out of the way.
I realized then that we had nothing.
No diapers.
No formula.
No bottles.
James had been so focused on the baby herself that he had forgotten the reality of a baby.
I sat on the floor with her,
the shadows of the room lengthening as the sun began to set.
May you like
I was a mother of four now.
And I had never felt more alone in my entire life.
