Chapter 1: The Baby With My Name
My husband called me at 2 a.m.
and placed a newborn baby girl in my arms, then the hospital called before we even made it home and told us to turn around.
At 2:06 a.m., my phone rang.
It was my husband, Christopher.
He had left the house hours earlier after telling me that one of his coworkers had been taken to the hospital.
But the moment I answered, something about his voice sounded different.
"Get dressed and come to St.
Jude's."
"What happened?
Is someone hurt?"
"No.
Just...
please come."
Twenty minutes later, I rushed through the hospital entrance.
Christopher was waiting for me near the maternity ward.
And there was a newborn baby girl in his arms.
I stopped in my tracks.
For twenty-two years, we had raised three sons.
I had always dreamed of having a daughter.
Now my husband was standing in front of me holding one.
"Christopher...
whose baby is that?"
He swallowed hard.
Then he walked over and gently placed her in my arms.
"She's ours."
I could only stare at him.
Months earlier, we had quietly applied to become emergency foster parents, but we hadn't heard anything since.
Christopher explained that the hospital had called him because a baby needed a home immediately.
"The paperwork is done.
We can take her tonight."
The moment he placed her in my arms, I started crying.
She was tiny.
Dark hair.
Perfect little fingers.
Christopher told me her name was Daisy.
We hadn't even made it to our neighborhood when his phone rang.
It was the hospital.
A nurse sounded terrified.
"Turn around.
Do not take that baby home."
Christopher slammed on the brakes.
"What happened?"
"We checked the mother's records again."
Christopher's face turned completely white.
When we returned to the hospital, a doctor was waiting for us with two security officers.
He took us into a private room.
"I need to ask you something.
Have you ever donated eggs?"
"No."
"Had embryos frozen?"
"Never."
He looked at Christopher.
My husband wouldn't meet my eyes.
Then the doctor handed me a preliminary lab report.
Daisy wasn't biologically related to Christopher.
But beside my name, it said:
Parent-child match: 99.9%.
I almost laughed.
"That's impossible.
I'm fifty-one."
Suddenly, someone began pounding on the door.
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May you like
Who is pounding on that door — and how is Daisy connected to her at 51 years old?
Comment **"NEXT"** if you want Part 2 in the comments.
