Chương 3
He stood quickly.
“Don’t start.”
The baby opened her eyes.
Graham looked at her.
“That was not a command.”
The child stared back with complete indifference.
He walked to the counter and followed the instructions Nora had left behind.
Warm the bottle.
Check the temperature.
Hold her upright.
Wait.
Everything about caring for a baby seemed designed to punish impatience.
Graham had spent most of his life in a world where problems had solutions.
A broken machine had a broken part.
A damaged wall had a weak point.
A bad contract had a clause.
A baby had a cry that could mean hunger, fear, discomfort, loneliness, or something else he did not know how to name.
That bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
When Claire arrived, she did not knock.
She never used to knock when she was younger.
She would walk into the house with grocery bags hanging from both arms and complain that he kept the thermostat too low.
The memory came and went so quickly that he almost missed it.
Then the door opened.
Claire stood there wearing jeans, a dark sweater, and the same expression she had carried during their last argument.
Careful.
Guarded.
Trying not to hope.
“Where is she?”
No hello.
No accusation.
Just the question.
“In the living room.”
Claire walked past him.
She stopped when she saw the baby.
Something softened in her face.
Not because of Graham.
Because of the child.
She moved closer slowly.
“Hi,” she whispered.
Graham watched her kneel beside the chair.
He noticed things he had forgotten.
The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous.
The way she smiled before she touched something fragile.
The way she lowered her voice around sleeping animals and children even though she had never told him why.
“She’s tiny,” Claire said.
“Yes.”
“Did you hold her all day?”
Graham looked away.
“Mostly.”
Claire glanced at him.
“Mostly?”
“I put her down.”
“Where?”
“The chair.”
“Dad.”
“What?”
“You can’t leave a newborn alone in a chair.”
“I know that now.”
Claire looked at him for a moment.
The answer seemed to surprise her.
“You know that now?”
“Yes.”
The room became quiet.
A different kind of quiet than before.
Not angry.
Not comfortable.
Just uncertain.
Claire picked up the baby after checking the blanket.
Graham watched closely.
“You’re good at that.”
“At what?”
“Holding her.”
Claire looked down.
“I used to babysit.”
“You never told me.”
“I did.”
“When?”
“When Mom was sick.”
The sentence stopped him.
Graham looked toward the window.
He hated how easily memories could enter a room.
Eleanor sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea she forgot to drink.
Claire sleeping on the couch during hospital visits.
The smell of hospital soap on everyone’s clothes.
Things he had packed away because opening them hurt.
“I don’t remember.”
Claire’s expression changed slightly.
“I know.”
The two words carried more weight than anger would have.
Graham looked at his daughter.
“I was busy.”
“I know.”
Again, that answer.
Calm.
Almost worse than blame.
He walked toward the counter and started washing a bottle that was already clean.
Claire noticed.
“You do that when you’re uncomfortable.”
“Do what?”
“Find something to fix.”
He stopped moving.
“You always did.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“But sometimes people aren’t broken machines.”
Graham put the bottle down.
The old instinct to argue rose immediately.
He could feel the words forming.
A defense.
An explanation.
A reason.
He let them disappear.
The baby made a small sound.
Claire adjusted her carefully.
“She needs a name.”
Graham looked over.
“She has one.”
“Who gave it to her?”
“No one.”
“Then she doesn’t.”
He frowned.
“She’s not a dog.”
Claire almost smiled.
Almost.
“Exactly.”
The small moment disappeared before it could become anything more.
Graham’s phone buzzed on the counter.
A message from Sheriff Mercer.
The social worker wants confirmation that the child is still in your temporary care.
Claire read his face.
“What is it?”
“They’re checking.”
“Checking what?”
“That she’s here.”
“That’s normal.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“You say that like you hate that it’s normal.”
Graham picked up the phone.
“I don’t like strangers deciding things about my life.”
Claire leaned against the counter.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“That baby is not your life.”
He looked at her.
The statement should have annoyed him.
Instead, it hurt.
Because part of him had already started thinking about tomorrow morning.
About the bottle.
About whether she would cry when he left the room.
About whether the house would feel empty again when she was gone.
“I know,” he said.
Claire looked away.
“No, I don’t think you do.”
The words were quiet.
Not cruel.
That made them harder.
The next morning, Nora arrived earlier than expected.
She found Graham sitting on the floor beside the couch because the baby had fallen asleep on his chest and he did not want to risk moving her.
Nora stopped in the doorway.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then she smiled faintly.
“I see things changed.”
Graham looked uncomfortable.
“She fell asleep.”
“That happens.”
“I was trying to put her down.”
“And?”
“She objected.”
Nora stepped inside.
“That’s also common.”
Claire stood from the kitchen table.
“Hi.”
Nora looked between them.
“Family?”
“Daughter,” Graham said.
The word sounded unfamiliar.
Claire noticed.
Nora did too.
But neither mentioned it.
Nora checked the baby again.
“She’ll need another temporary arrangement soon.”
Graham’s jaw tightened.
“I thought you said it depended.”
“It does.”
“On what?”
“On finding the right placement.”
Graham looked down.
The baby’s hand had curled around the edge of his shirt.
“Why can’t she stay here?”
Claire looked at him.
Nora stayed quiet for a moment.
“Because caring for a newborn is not just about wanting to help.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You also have to be prepared.”
“I can learn.”
Nora nodded.
“I believe you can.”
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“But?”
“But learning and being responsible for a child are different things.”
