Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I’ll ensure her nanny is kind and capable. I’ll make sure she goes to the best schools and has every opportunity. But I won’t be the father cleaning up drool and dirty nappies. I won’t be cooing or singing lullabies.
“You’re going to be a great dad,” Vincent says. “Things will…rearrange when you see her. Take it from me.”
I’m not going to challenge his assertion because it will lead to far too much conversation. Nothing needs to change aside from the arrangement of my flat. It’s just a tiny human who will have a full-time caregiver. If the nanny does her job right, I’ll probably forget the child is even in the house.
THREE
Dax
I feel like I’m being interrogated by the FBI. Since they brought me the results of the blood test, confirming I’m the biological father of the child Kelly gave birth to, I’ve spent two hours talking to people from the hospital and the adoption agency. I’ve been trying to convince them that no, I don’t want to put the baby up for adoption, and no, I won’t change my mind.
“I’d like to see the child, please,” I say, standing. They’ve run out of questions and concerns and I’ve been as patient as I’m prepared to be. I’ve got things to do, a job to get back to. I can’t sit around until these people—who have no claim over my child—get over themselves.
“I’m going to give you my card,” the short blonde woman with the red nails from the adoption agency says. “I’m not sure how adoption works in the UK, but we could help you navigate the process of bringing your child back to the US and—”
“Which way is out? Where is the baby?” I start testing the doors lining the small room we’re in.
“If you wait here, we can bring your daughter through to meet you,” the older woman says.
“I want to see her immediately,” I say. “Or I want to see whoever’s in charge.”
“We won’t be a moment,” the older woman says, shooting me a smile that says she gets it and will keep the other woman in check.
“You okay there?” Vincent asks, from where he’s been sitting on a sofa at the back of the room.
“Yeah, I just want to get on with it. I need to get a passport so we can get out of here.”
“There’s no rush, mate. Seriously, we’re here until whenever.”
It’s not like Vincent and Jacob don’t have better places to be. I’m sure they do. But I appreciate him acting like he’s some kind of jobless aristo who doesn’t have an inbox that’s blowing up or a wife at home who wants him back.
The door opens and the older lady from the hospital returns. “Mr. Cove, I have the pleasure of introducing your daughter.” The word daughter echoes around my head like a handful of marbles thrown into a cave. I try to shake off the noise. The nurse wheels in a transparent tray on wheels, just like the one I saw when I went to visit Madison and Nathan in hospital.
I swallow. “Right,” I say. “Thanks.”
She wheels the cot beside me and when I glance down, there’s a bundle of blankets and a hat and a small section of human face.
My daughter.
My knees weaken—something I never experienced before today but now is becoming alarmingly familiar. I grasp the edge of the bassinet to make sure I don’t fall over. Maybe I’m dehydrated. Or perhaps I’m coming down with a virus.
“I’ll leave you two for a few minutes and then I’ll send one of the nurses through to discharge her.”
I nod, taking in the weird-looking creature in the bassinet.
“Oh, I forgot,” I say. “Is Kelly here? Can I speak to her?”
The woman winces. “She was discharged. She left a few hours ago.” She flips through the papers in her arms. “But she left this for you.”
It’s a sealed brown envelope. When the woman leaves, I sit back into the chair and pull out the papers, checking everything’s been signed properly. While we were traveling, I had my lawyers draw up some paperwork. She’s signed everything, renouncing all her rights to the child and giving me all legal and moral responsibility. I don’t want any muddy waters. Kelly wanted the baby adopted and the outcome will be the same. She doesn’t have to have anything to do with the child. That’s my job now.
I push the papers back in the envelope and stuff them into my backpack. There’s no note or forwarding address. Makes things much easier.
When I clip my backpack closed, Vincent is standing over the bassinet and I go over to join him.
“She’s sleeping,” I say.
“They do a lot of that in the first few weeks,” Vincent says.
I don’t know where the thought comes from, but before I have the chance to think, I blurt out, “How do we know she’s actually sleeping and not…” I can’t actually say the word dead, but that’s what I mean.