Unless Sophie did DNA testing like Leah had done, she’d have no reason to discover that she was not related to her mother and father.

The next page showed a photo of baby Sophie. The child in this photo was Erica Montgomery’s baby. Yet Leah was looking at a face that Erica and Todd had never had the opportunity to look upon.

The infant had slit her eyes open as if she found the light of the world to be an unwelcome assault. Her lips formed a pink rosebud. Her eyes were dark, as was her dusting of hair.

She looked just like Dylan had when he’d been a newborn.

Sebastian had never felt such an overwhelming pull toward a woman in his life. He knew why he felt the pull. Leah was brainy, kind, at peace with herself, challenging, funny. He loved that she said random things about flowers serving as a metaphor for life and melons shaped like rhomboids.

What he didn’t know: Why, of all people, did the woman he felt this way about have to be the woman Ben loved?

After leaving the hospital, they came to a stop at Leah’s car, parked in an outdoor lot.

She dashed a piece of hair away from her face. “My head is spinning with everything I just learned.”

“I can imagine.” He wished he had something more comforting to offer. “Are you going to contact Trina and Jonathan Brookside?”

“I don’t know. At this point, I’m simply planning to stalk the Brooksides on the Internet . . . in a very friendly, non-creepy way—”

“Very non-creepy.”

“—to see what I can learn about their lives and about their daughter’s life.”

When Sebastian was young and had asked his mom about his father, she’d told him plainly that she’d met him at a party and that they’d had a one-night stand. Later, when his mom discovered she was pregnant, she’d contacted his father as a courtesy. Sebastian suspected they’d both been relieved when they’d learned the other was happy to continue leading separate lives. His father didn’t have to be a father. His mother could be a mother without a stranger’s influence.

Sebastian knew his father’s name, but felt nothing toward him except vague resentment. No connection. No affection. No desire to communicate with him.

Leah held her purse strap with both hands, stacked one atop the other. “I can’t thank you enough for stepping in and helping me with all of this.”

“Not a problem.”

“No, really.” She regarded him steadily. “Thank you.”

His body roared in response, and he had to lock his teeth together to keep from saying Don’t fall in love with Ben. Please don’t. “You’re welcome.”

His awareness of the rest of the world—the noise, the cars, the colors —sucked away.