Chapter 3 - The Baby They Tried to Claim
Janice Monroe had announced my daughter's birth before I had even held her.
That was the first thing Leah told me when I woke up.
I thought she must have misunderstood.
"How?"
Leah held up her phone.
There it was.
A Facebook post from my mother-in-law.
A photograph of a pink baby blanket.
A photograph of Andrew smiling in front of a hospital entrance.
And beneath them:
Our beautiful granddaughter has arrived! Andrew has been such a wonderful, supportive husband throughout this exciting experience. We are so proud of our growing Monroe family.
I read it three times.
Wonderful.
Supportive.
Husband.
I looked at Leah.
"When did she post that?"
"Twenty minutes ago."
"Andrew hasn't even seen her."
"I know."
"He wasn't here."
"I know."
I stared at the picture of him.
He had changed clothes.
He was wearing a clean navy sweater and holding an expensive bouquet.
He looked like a man arriving for a celebration.
Not a man who had abandoned his wife during childbirth.
My phone began vibrating.
Messages poured in.
Congratulations.
Heart emojis.
Questions about the baby's name.
People asking when they could visit.
One woman wrote:
You're so lucky to have Andrew. Not all men are this involved!
I turned the phone facedown.
"Make it stop."
Leah took it.
"You don't have to look at any of this."
A nurse came to check on me.
I asked about my daughter.
"She's doing better," she said. "The neonatal team will update you directly. We'll help you see her as soon as it's safe."
I nodded.
My heart felt as though it had been removed from my chest and carried down the hallway.
"Can I tell you something?" I asked.
"Of course."
"My husband left me while I was in labor."
The nurse pulled a chair closer.
She listened without interrupting.
I told her about the phone calls.
The parking lot.
The ambulance.
The way Andrew had refused to come back.
When I finished, she asked whether I felt safe and whether I wanted to speak with the hospital's social worker.
I said yes.
I also asked for help managing visitors.
I wasn't trying to erase Andrew from our daughter's life.
I simply couldn't handle his parents entering my room and pretending the night had never happened.
The nurse explained that the hospital could help address my privacy and safety concerns and coordinate with the appropriate staff.
For the first time, I felt that someone was giving me choices instead of taking them away.
At 8:16 that morning, Andrew arrived.
I knew because Leah saw him through the doorway.
He wore that navy sweater from the photograph.
His hair was freshly styled.
He carried flowers in one hand and a stuffed pink bear in the other.
"Hey, babe."
He smiled uncertainly.
I stared at him.
He looked around the room.
"Where's the baby?"
Not how are you?
Not are you okay?
Not I'm sorry.
Just where's the baby.
Leah stood.
"She's in the neonatal unit."
His smile disappeared.
"What?"
I watched fear flash across his face.
For one brief moment, I thought he might finally understand.
"Is she okay?"
"She's getting better," I said.
"Why didn't anyone call me?"
Leah made a sharp sound.
I held up my hand.
"Because you weren't here."
Andrew looked at me.
"Rachel, don't start."
Something inside me went quiet.
He put the flowers on the table.
"Look, I'm sorry things got complicated last night."
Complicated.
That was his word.
Like we'd missed a restaurant reservation.
"Complicated?" Leah repeated.
Andrew ignored her.
"Mom said you were upset, but I didn't realize it was actually happening."
I looked at him.
"I told you."
"I thought you were exaggerating."
"I said our daughter was coming."
"Rachel—"
"I called you from a parking lot."
He rubbed his forehead.
"Can we not do this right now?"
I stared at him.
Then I pulled back the blanket.
My abdomen was bandaged.
An IV line ran into my arm.
"I had surgery, Andrew."
His eyes dropped.
He said nothing.
"I was frightened. Our daughter's heartbeat was worrying the doctors. I had more bleeding than expected. And you weren't here."
He swallowed.
"I didn't know."
"You refused to find out."
That silenced him.
For perhaps five seconds.
Then he sighed.
"Okay. I messed up. Can I see my daughter now?"
Leah stepped toward him.
"You don't get to walk in here and act like nothing happened."
"She's my daughter too."
"Then you should have been here when she was born."
Andrew looked at me.
"Are you going to let your sister speak for you?"
I sat straighter despite the pain.
"No."
He looked relieved.
Until I continued.
"I'm going to speak for myself."
He stopped moving.
"I need you to leave my room."
"Rachel."
"Please."
His face darkened.
"Mom's downstairs."
"Then she can wait downstairs."
"You can't keep doing this."
I looked at him.
"Doing what?"
"Making me pay for one mistake."
I almost laughed.
One mistake.
As though my terror had been a parking ticket.
As though our daughter's first hours of life were something that could be rescheduled.
I pressed the call button.
Andrew stared at me.
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
A nurse came in and helped end the visit.
Andrew left with his flowers still sitting on my bedside table.
The pink bear remained beside them.
Leah picked it up.
"Want me to get rid of this?"
I looked at the little bear.
"No."
It wasn't the bear's fault.
By afternoon, I was finally able to visit my daughter.
Leah pushed my wheelchair into the neonatal unit.
There she was.
Tiny.
Wrapped in a white blanket.
A small monitor beside her bed.
A nurse explained how she was doing and helped me sit close.
I touched her hand.
Her fingers curled around mine.
I broke down.
"Hi, sweetheart."
Her little mouth moved.
I leaned closer.
"I'm your mommy."
I had spent months imagining this moment.
I had pictured Andrew standing behind me.
His hands on my shoulders.
Both of us crying.
Instead, Leah stood beside me.
And somehow, it was still beautiful.
"What are you naming her?" Leah asked softly.
I looked down at my daughter.
My mother had died two years earlier.
Her name was Nora Bennett.
She had been a school librarian, a terrible gardener, and the kind of woman who kept spare mittens in her car because she hated seeing children cold.
When I was little, she told me something I had never forgotten.
You never have to earn the right to be loved, Rachel.
I stroked my daughter's cheek.
"Nora."
Leah covered her mouth.
"Mom?"
I nodded.
"Nora Bennett."
She started crying.
I did too.
That evening, Andrew sent me another message.
Mom says you've chosen a name without me.
Then:
You can't just erase the Monroe name.
I looked at my sleeping daughter.
And for the first time, I wondered whether Andrew was more afraid of losing his family or losing control of it.
Then Leah opened our joint bank account.
Her expression changed.
"Rachel?"
I looked up.
"What?"
She turned the screen toward me.
Our savings account was almost empty.
$18,400 had been transferred out.
The transaction was dated the day before I went into labor.
And the recipient was someone I knew very well.
May you like
Walter Monroe.
My father-in-law.
