The truth nips at that vulnerable place in my heart that’s been ravaged by so much grief. I think of the pills Jess gave me. If it hadn’t been for those fucking pills, I would have my baby. Or at the very least, I would have known sooner that he was missing.

An eternity later, Jake returns.

I roll my head to look at him. “Did you burp him?”

“Shit.” He retreats back upstairs and I let out a good-hearted laugh.

“Grab a baby blanket and drape it over your shoulder. Check if he needs to be changed while you’re up there!” I cross my hands on my belly and revel in the help. No one’s changed a diaper since my mother. Already, I’ve grown accustomed to doing so much on my own that I take a moment to enjoy it—despite the circumstances.

“Holy moly!” I hear him cry down. “It’s like Armageddon in here!”

“Wipes are on the changing table!” I shout up. My back aches with the effort, but the silly banter lightens my spirits and almost detracts from why he’s here.

I work my way to sitting and roll my shoulders and neck and then check for numbness in my extremities. My feet have stopped tingling. I situate the ice behind my back and gingerly tilt back.

He hurries down the stairs. “Garbage?”

“He has a Diaper Genie up there.”

“For the love of God,” he says. But I can hear it in his voice. He loves being needed. He loves taking care of any little thing that will bring me some sense of happiness or comfort. I hunt for the baby’s cries, but all is quiet.

When Jake is back, I smile. “He likes you.”

“He is a creator of crime scenes. What has that kid been eating?”

“Welcome to motherhood,” I joke.

“How’s your back?” He slides in next to me and adjusts the ice. The crunch of it tickles my spine.

“Sore.” I lean back and look at him. “Talk.”

He sighs and props my head up with a pillow. “Pat cross-referenced all of the cards on file and we narrowed it down to a few possibilities. We found one that traced to an address here.”

I snap my head up and the pillow falls away. “Here where? Like in Elmhurst?”

“Yes.”

My breath quickens. “Who?” My brain wraps around the outcome, of strangers I don’t know, of neighbors I do.

“I don’t know how to say this, Bec. It’s someone you know.”

Fear and anticipation flood my system and tamp down the pain from the fall. “Who?” My fingers constrain the fabric of the couch cushion until my knuckles ache. Blood fizzes in my ears. My mouth goes cottony.

“It’s your friend.”

Time reverses. A riot explodes in my head.