This is Hope. She’s Jennifer’s daughter. She’s mine too.
Jen always said that if anything ever happened to her, Hope should be with you. She kept this jacket all these years. She said it was the last piece of home she never gave up.
I’m sorry.
There are things you don’t know. Things Paul kept from you.
I’ll come back and explain everything.
Please take care of Hope.
— Andy”
My hands began to shake uncontrollably.
“No,” I whispered. “No, Jen. No.”
For five years, I had forced myself to accept that my daughter might never come back.
And now, Hope blinked up at me.
I pressed the note to my lips, then forced myself to act.
I called the pediatric clinic and told them I was bringing in a baby who had been left in my care.
Then I called Paul.
He answered with irritation. “What now, Jodi?”
“Get over here.”
“Jodi, I have work. I have a life.”
“And I have your granddaughter on my kitchen table.”
A pause.
“What?”
“Come now, Paul.”
He arrived twenty minutes later. Amber stayed in the car.
Paul stepped into the kitchen, already complaining—then he saw the jacket.
