I’ve been pacing in front of the bay window for an hour. Still there’s no news from the hospital. Morris promised me he’d email when it was done, so what is taking him so long? I stop, press the heels of my hands into the sockets of my eyes, and exhale. Relax, Alex. Be calm. This part of the plan is inevitable. There’s no stopping Morris when he’s following the rules.

I take a long, restorative breath and check my email again. This time, when I refresh my screen, the phone dings. It’s happened. Morris has come through. Relief floods me, and I all but sink to my knees.

Suddenly the front door bangs open and Chase barrels into the loft. He’s sweaty with hurry, his clothes crumpled and creased, a blond mess of stubble all over his chin. He’s so far from the smooth guy I first met in the grocery store that it takes me a few seconds to register him.

“What have you done?” he shouts from the doorway. He’s demented and angular, completely unhinged.

“What are you talking about?”

“Is this why you wouldn’t come to the hospital with me this morning?” He slams the door behind him, and the whole loft shudders. “Because you knew what your boss was going to do? How could you do that?”

“Slow down! How could I do what” I say.

“Have Ruth’s baby taken away from her. Your boss just waltzed into the hospital room and took him.” He swallows, devastated. And he’s right: It is upsetting. For everyone. He’s just had so little experience of this kind of thing.

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You planned this.” He points at me while he heads to the tap and drinks water straight from the faucet. “I’m getting the hang of you, Alex. You’ve had this planned all along.”

“You make me sound like a criminal mastermind. I’m a child protection worker, Chase. I knew Ruth couldn’t look after a baby the minute she announced she was having one. And I will always prioritize the safety of a child. It’s my job. I know you think the world is a beautiful place, but it’s not. You have no idea of the things I’ve seen.”

He smashes the faucet off. “Ruth told me everything about you. Your whole ‘good girl’ story about your past—and the wildness of your crazy, drug-addled sister—all of it was lies. I know you got pregnant at fifteen and blamed it on the wrong guy. I know you had an abortion, and that’s why you can’t have kids. And that all happened to you, not to your sister. You lied to me.”

“Chase,” I say, reeling as if slapped. “You’ve been listening to the wrong—”