Me crying that I could not lose my home, my son’s school, and my entire life in one night.
I remembered saying, “I can’t lose everything.”
I did not remember agreeing to take another woman’s baby.
Keaton used my silence as permission.
“You knew enough,” he said.
I slid down the wall.
Perhaps I had heard pieces. Perhaps part of my mind had hidden them because the truth was unbearable.
But I had never given clear consent. I had never seen Blythe. I had never understood that a living child would be placed in my arms and given my dead daughter’s name.
By sunrise, I found the transfers in our bank records.
I found messages on the tablet Keaton had forgotten was connected to his phone.
Blythe had written:
You said Maris agreed. I don’t want contact after this. Make sure the rest of the money comes through.
