Chapter 4

On the morning Ivy turned one hundred days old, she gave me her first clear smile.

I called Grant over to see it. He looked at his phone and turned away. "One second. Sloan can't find a parking spot."

Ivy's smile quickly disappeared. Looking toward the door, I suddenly felt as if I were watching a preview of all the times her father would overlook her in the future.

When the photo session began, Sloan wore a navy dress. Standing beside Grant, she looked like half of a couple who had coordinated their clothes in advance.

She held out her arms to me. "Let the godmother have today's little star."

"We should take a picture of the three of us first."

Grant's patience vanished. "Why does the order matter?"

"Grant, this is our family photo day."

"Sloan is my family, and I'm Ivy's father. I shouldn't have to ask your permission every time I want a picture with someone."

He took our daughter from my arms and handed her to Sloan.

Sloan moved beside him. Looking through the camera, the photographer smiled. "Dad, move a little closer to Mom. Perfect. What a beautiful family of three."

The camera clicked twice before Grant explained that Sloan was the godmother.

The photographer apologized awkwardly, but Sloan laughed. "It's fine. People have been mistaking us for a couple since we were kids." She stayed pressed against Grant's shoulder.

When I passed her, Sloan spoke under her breath. "Do you see it now? If I'm holding her, he'll stand beside me. Ivy has shown me what a daughter with Grant would look like."

Ivy soon began crying from hunger. I reached for her, but Sloan stepped back. "I only want to prove you're not the only person who can comfort her."

Her crying made my milk soak through my light colored dress. The photographer looked away. I no longer cared about my embarrassment. I reached out again. "Give me my baby."

I stepped forward, but Grant moved in front of Sloan and caught my wrist.

"Don't make a scene in front of the photographer."

"She just said Ivy looks like a daughter she had with you."

Sloan's eyes filled instantly. "I said it was like one of our childhood jokes had come true. Why do you always make everything sound so ugly?"

"She loves Ivy," Grant said.

"I never chose this godmother. The day I gave birth, you decided who needed you more. Now you're deciding who gets to hold my crying child and refuse to give her back."

One hundred days earlier, I had lain in a delivery bed and begged him not to leave. Now I stood in my own home and begged him to give me my daughter.

Both times, Grant stood between us to protect Sloan.

Ivy coughed through her sobs. Sloan quickly handed her to Grant. He took the baby, but his first instinct was to check the wrist that had healed weeks ago.

In that moment, I no longer had the strength to argue.

"Give me my daughter!"

Once Ivy was in my arms, she quickly stopped crying against my familiar warmth and scent. Grant did not notice the milk staining my dress. He was too busy comforting Sloan and her reddened eyes.

As I nursed Ivy, Sloan said tearfully that she was clearly not wanted there. Grant immediately picked up his car keys. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'll drive you home."

Before leaving, Sloan looked back and smiled at me. "I'll make sure he comes home early. It is your family day, after all."

Fifteen minutes after the door closed, the doorbell rang.

Maren stood outside. Behind her was a car with a safety seat already installed.

"I'm here to take you home, sis."

She saw my soaked dress and the baby in my arms. She asked no questions. She simply took Ivy first, freeing my hands long enough for me to breathe.

The documents, clothing, and baby supplies had already been sent ahead. I took only my mother's old watch. Then I set my wedding ring on top of the photograph the photographer had mistaken for a family of three.

Beside it, I left the picture inscribed, "To our little girl."

Then I carried Ivy out of the house.

At the car, I looked back at the door once. Everything that remained of my marriage was inside, yet there was nothing worth going back to retrieve.

This time, I did not turn around.

Grant always came home after taking care of Sloan.

This time, no one would be waiting for him.