“Exactly.” My voice catches, fills with dread, and releases enough for me to speak. “You’re positive it was him?”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Yes.”

“At the park, you don’t think I could have grabbed the wrong stroller?”

“Of course you didn’t. I was with you.”

“But you said he was fussy.”

“So? Babies are fussy.”

“Not like this. Not Jackson.”

Jess is silent. I know it’s not fair to impose the same frantic energy on her because she’s not his mother. No matter how well she knows Jackson, he isn’t hers. If I was sighted, would I know the difference between Baxter and another baby? The answer comes in an instant: of course I would.

When Jess speaks again, her voice has changed. “Bec, I think you need to go to the doctor. You fell and hit your head. I gave you those pills, which I realize I shouldn’t have, but I think you really need to get checked out. I think you need—”

“Jess, listen to me! This child is not mine.” My throat burns from the outburst, which causes the baby to scream louder.

“Rebecca, listen to what you’re saying.”

“I know what I’m saying. I know it sounds…” I don’t dare say the word crazy. I’m not crazy.

“It’s been a stressful couple of days.” Her voice lowers. “Maybe when you hit your head, you got slightly concussed, or I don’t know—maybe something with the pills. Just drink some water, try to flush them out of your system, and then reassess, okay? Do you need me to come over?”

I don’t know what to say. She’s wrong, but I can’t drive home the point. I can’t make her believe me. “No, I’ve bothered you enough. I’ll call you back.”

I throw the phone in disgust and listen to the baby wail.

A stranger.

I walk toward where I threw the phone and drop to retrieve it. After fruitless swatting, I find it by the leg of the dining room table. All I need is validation, for someone to see what I already know. I think about calling Crystal, but I don’t want her to drag Savi over here too.

I climb the stairs back to the nursery. The baby quiets slightly. I lift him into my arms and gently rock him. My heart shatters at the thought of my sweet baby boy in someone else’s arms, being held or—God forbid—harmed. Stop it. This has to be some ridiculous mistake. Jackson is fine. He has to be fine. There can’t be a God cruel enough to take away my baby too.

No.