“I won’t.”
PART 7 — THE DNA TEST
There was still one thing we needed to know.
The hospital arranged the necessary testing.
Rachel agreed.
A few days later, the results arrived.
The baby was biologically Daniel’s.
There was no connection to James or me.
And strangely, that brought me relief.
This wasn’t some secret attempt to make the daughter we’d lost the chance to have.
She was her own little person.
A child who already had a mother.
A father who had loved her before she was born.
And a family that had somehow found its way to us.
We named her Lily.
Rachel chose her middle name.
Daniel.
Lily Rachel Daniel.
PART 8 — THE REAL REASON JAMES CALLED ME
A week after Lily was born, I finally asked James the question that had been bothering me.
“Why did you call me to the hospital?”
He smiled through tears.
“Because I wanted to ask you something.”
“What?”
He took my hand.
“I wanted to know if you’d be willing to become Lily’s godmother.”
I stared at him.
“That was it?”
He laughed.
“No.”
He looked toward the nursery.
“I wanted to ask whether you’d consider raising her with me.”
I froze.
“James…”
“Not as a replacement for anything.”
He squeezed my hand.
“Not because you couldn’t have another child.”
“Then why?”
“Because I love you.”
He looked toward our house.
“And because I think our boys have enough love for one more person.”
I started crying.
Then he said the sentence I still can’t repeat without tears filling my eyes.
“Would you let me be the father who gives you the daughter we thought we’d lost forever?”
I covered my face.
PART 9 — THE THREE BROTHERS
When we brought Lily home, we had one more problem.
Our boys.
James gathered them in the living room.
“I have something to tell you.”
Our nine-year-old immediately asked:
“Are we in trouble?”
“No.”
Our seven-year-old looked suspicious.
“Did Dad break something?”
James laughed.
“No.”
Our four-year-old shouted:
“Is it pizza?”
James smiled.
“No.”
Then he opened the carrier.
Three little faces stared inside.
Silence.
Finally, our oldest whispered:
“Is that a baby?”
“Yes.”
“Whose baby?”
James looked at me.
I smiled.
“Ours.”
The four-year-old’s mouth dropped open.
“We got a baby sister?”
I nodded.
He jumped off the couch.
“I wanted one!”
Our seven-year-old carefully approached the carrier.
