I looked over at Max and met his dark eyes. We both understood the significance of this moniker. It was a bold move; a fighting stance. It meant that Freya was determined to pretend her baby was Max’s. That she would never admit that Brian was the real father. And she was not going to hand her child over to Jamie’s loving maternal arms. Freya was going to fight for her child.

Damn it.

“Pass her here,” Freya instructed me. I reached into the bassinet and scooped up the little bundle. Maggie didn’t stir as I settled her in her mother’s arms. Freya gazed down at her daughter, her face alight with maternal adoration. She looked radiant, beatific, almost saintly. Love emanated from the pair like a visible halo. Then Freya looked up at me.

“Do you have your camera?”

“Uh . . . no.”

“Why not?”

“I heard you were in labor. I raced over here.”

“Take a photo with your phone then.”

“It’s in the truck.”

“Well, go get it,” she snapped, handing the baby to Max, who returned her to the bassinet. “Before Maggie wakes up and starts screaming her head off.”

Dismissed, I scurried down the polished hallway—past doctors, nurses, and patients, absorbed in their own dramas. Freya’s curt tone had hurt me, but in a way, I was relieved. Her bonding moment with Maggie had been nothing but an act, a stunt for the cameras. She wanted to keep Maggie for appearances only, was going to fight Brian and Jamie on principle alone. But she didn’t know that they had a secret weapon in their struggle for custody.

Me.

When I burst through the sliding doors, I expected to see my boss and her husband waiting patiently in the cold, crisp night, but Jamie and Brian were gone. Maybe a security guard had shooed them away. Or Max may have called the cops. Or perhaps the hours without word had worn them down. But they should have stayed. They should have been more devoted to their baby. As I stalked across the darkened lot, I felt a prickle of concern.

I slid into my truck and reached for my phone in the glove box. With trembling fingers, I texted Jamie.

The baby is healthy. Seven pounds two ounces. Not a preemie.

And then, for good measure. . . .

She looks like her dad

Spring 2020

spring 2020

Chapter 56

56

jamie