That would’ve made sense if Whitney hadn’t just seen that photo from her past displayed in Amelia’s room. Clearly, Amelia had been doing a lot of digging into Whitney’s earlier years.

But why?

“What did you say?” Whitney asked.

“I just told her what I knew about your ex and how he treated you, you know?” His tone was tender. He was skating around it, the way he always did with this subject.

“She knows about him. I’ve told her already. I wonder why she felt the need to ask you.”

“Maybe trying to get a different perspective,” Dan added thoughtfully. “Probably has nothing to do with anything, but she was also asking questions about her birth and stuff.”

Whitney froze. “What do you mean, questions about her birth?”

“I guess you’d never told her the story, about my layover and all the drama with that,” he said. “It was a crazy time.”

“Yeah, it really was.” Whitney knew she hadn’t shared much about that time with Amelia. Dan worked long hours, missing so much of Amelia’s early days. And she’d gone through horrible post-partum depression. Honestly, she tried hard to push that whole time period to the back of her mind.

Whitney stumbled out of bed, body tight, eyes bleary. The light was dim, but not dark, sunlight streaming in through the closed blinds. Disoriented, she looked at the alarm clock. It was 3 p.m. She’d put Amelia down for a nap around noon. Was she still asleep? Wow, that’s a long nap.

Too long, actually.

She was probably hungry.

Yawning, she ran a hand down her face, and ambled over to the bassinet.

Amelia wasn’t in there.

The bassinet was empty.

Amelia’s blanket in a pile near the bottom.

Exhaling, she rubbed her eyes. She’d been doing this lately. Hallucinating. But when she opened them, there was still no baby.

Gathering herself, she left her bedroom and headed into Amelia’s room. She hadn’t remembered putting her down in her crib, but she must have. Usually, she liked having her close, but Dan had been encouraging Whitney to acclimate Amelia to her crib. So sometimes she put her down in there.

Amelia’s room was bright. Decorated in bold pink and sunny yellows. The kind of room she would’ve loved as a child. The blinds were pulled all the way up, and the window was open. Sunlight spilled into the room. A breeze blew in, bringing with it the scent of grass, damp earth, honeysuckles. The air was cool, and goose bumps rose on Whitney’s flesh. She hoped Amelia was covered up.

Why hadn’t she closed the window when she put her down?

She passed the large pink flowers hanging on the wall to reach Amelia’s crib. Her heart sank.

Empty.

Oh, my God. It was happening again.

She couldn’t lose another baby.