I step halfway into the hall, too afraid to breathe or move in fear of missing it. I slither against the wall and stay quiet. My body crackles while I strain to hear. I can’t explain why the hairs on the back of my neck rise to attention as I get closer to the guest room.

My hand rests on the knob. I know once I open the door, I’ll find a bed, dresser, drapes, dust. Nothing special.

I twist the knob. Instead of a stale guest room, there’s the familiar scent of baby wipes and a diaper pail. An anticipatory breath shudders through my body. It’s not a guest room—it’s a nursery. Upon entering, the noise grows louder: a jingle.

The bells.

I charge through the room. My knee connects with something sharp before I bump into the rails of a crib. Another jingle—the same one I’d heard before—cracks through my heart like a bat. I would know those bells anywhere.

“Jackson!” I reach into the crib, hungry for my baby. My hands shake so much, I worry I might drop him before he’s even in my arms. His sweet smell overwhelms all other senses. The bells fall from his tiny fingers.

It’s him.

I traverse his skin: head, eyes, nose, mouth, the bumpy patch behind his ear, the notch in his collarbone, and sink to the ground. I smother him in kisses, my entire heart swelling with relief while I rock him against my chest. My baby is alive. My baby is here. My baby is safe.

I don’t even have time to make sense of why Jackson is in this house. He’s here, and that’s all that matters. I gather my thoughts and then take out my phone. I snap photos of everything, wildly pointing and clicking to show that this is not my house. I place Jackson back into the crib for a moment, and he starts crying. I snap his photo, then shove the phone into my pocket before picking him back up. “I’m sorry, sweet boy. I just need proof.” He settles, and I pause in the doorway. Is there another way out?

I take a breath and tiptoe back down the hall toward the top of the stairs. I pray he stays quiet so I can get down the stairs safely and outside.

I pause on the landing. Crystal is still on the phone. The sound of her voice ignites my fury. All of my senses rise and solidify: anger, fear, disbelief. I anchor Jackson in my arms and hesitate on the very top stair.

“Ms. Rebecca?” Savi’s voice is incredulous from the first floor.

My body trembles until I am vibrating with rage. “Why is he here?” It is the only logical thing I can think to ask.

Savi runs away and calls for her mother. Her voice is as terrified as I feel.