I brought Hope with me. Denise had told me not to leave her with anyone I didn’t trust—and trust had become a very short list.
My boss, Lena, took one look at the baby carrier behind the register and said, “You have exactly thirty seconds before you tell me what on earth happened.”
I told her enough.
She pressed a hand to her chest. “Jodi.”
“I know.”
At around four, the bell above the diner door rang.
I was pouring coffee for a trucker in booth six. Hope was asleep beside the pie case.
That’s when I saw him.
Andy.
He looked young—maybe twenty-three or twenty-four—but grief had aged him, left him looking unfinished.
He stood just inside the door, holding a baseball cap in both hands.
His eyes went to Hope first.
Then to me.
“Hi, Jodi,” he said.
Every nerve in my body reacted before I could speak.
“Who’s asking?”
“My name is Andy.”
He looked wrecked. Not dangerous. Just… broken.
“I loved your daughter,” he said.
The diner seemed to quiet around us in that strange way busy places sometimes do when your world shifts.
Lena silently took the coffee pot from my hand.
I pointed to the back booth. “Sit down.”
He sat like a man waiting for judgment.
I slid into the seat across from him. Hope stirred beside me.
“Start talking.”
His eyes filled instantly. He had to look down.
“She wanted to come home so many times.”
I gripped the table. “Then why didn’t she?”
“Because of your husband,” he said quietly. “After she called him, she cried for hours. He told her if she came back with me, she’d be throwing her life away. He said if she loved you, she’d stay gone and let you move on.”
I closed my eyes.
Andy continued. “I told her maybe he was bluffing. She said he wasn’t.”
“What happened to my daughter, Andy?”
He broke then—just for a second. One hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking—before he pulled himself together.
“Hope was born three weeks ago,” he said. “Jennifer had a bleed after delivery. They said they stopped it. They said she was okay… but she wasn’t.”
I couldn’t feel my feet.
“Before she…” he swallowed, “before the end, she told me if anything ever happened, Hope was to come to you. She made me promise.”
Behind me, Hope made a soft, sleepy sound.
I reached back and touched her blanket.
When I looked at Andy again, he was watching me with a quiet, exhausted gratitude.
“What was she like?” I asked softly. “When she was with you?”
His face softened.
“She laughed with her whole face,” he said. “Like she couldn’t help it. She still talked about you—mostly when she was tired. Little things. ‘My mom hummed when she baked.’ ‘My mom could get any stain out.’ ‘My mom always knew when I was lying.’ She missed you all the time.”
“Why did you leave Hope?” I whispered. “Why not come to me yourself?”
He looked at the carrier.
“Because I hadn’t slept in four days. Because every time she cried, I heard Jennifer not breathing. Because I was scared I’d drop her, or fail her… or hate myself for not being enough.”
He rubbed his face.
“I rang your bell. I waited across the street until I saw you pick her up. I didn’t leave until then.”
And I broke.
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