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.
“I made the wrong choice,” she said softly. Her eyes fell on Kelly asleep in my arms. “I picked him over her. And it’s been killing me every day since.”
She reached out, fingertips trembling, and brushed Kelly’s cheek. “I thought I needed him. I thought family meant a husband, a name, a perfect picture. But now I know… it’s this. It’s her.”
Tears streamed down her face. “I told Jason I want a divorce. He said I’m ruining my life. Maybe I am. But I won’t let my daughter grow up thinking she wasn’t wanted.”
Her voice cracked.
I handed Kelly to her, watching as she held her daughter for the first time without fear. Kelly blinked up at her, calm, curious—like she knew.
“She’s perfect,” Rachel whispered. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for that day.”
“It won’t be easy,” I said.
“I don’t care,” she replied. “Will you help me?”
“Always,” I said. “That’s what sisters do.”
