“No,” I said quietly. “You’d rather be right than have her home—even if it cost us our daughter.”
Amber appeared in the doorway. “Paul…”
I didn’t even look at her. “You don’t get a word in here.”
Paul stared at Hope, as if she might somehow save him.
Instead, I grabbed the diaper bag and my keys.
“I’m taking Hope to the clinic,” I said. “And when I come back, you need to be gone. I called you here to see if you had any shame.”
“Jodi—”
“I mean it. If you’re still here, I’ll tell the police you withheld contact from a missing child’s mother.”
That got them moving.
At the clinic, Dr. Evans examined Hope and said she seemed healthy—just a little underweight. She asked careful questions. I gave careful answers. I showed her the note, the supplies, the jacket.
She asked if I had family support.
I almost laughed.
“I have coffee and my work colleagues,” I said.
She gave me a sad smile. “Sometimes that’s how it starts.”
By noon, I had temporary emergency paperwork from a social worker named Denise—and three missed calls from Paul, which I deleted without listening.
