“Can I help you?”
Priya stepped forward. “Mrs. Mercer, my name is Priya Sen. We need to speak with you and your husband about a child placed in your care through Hawthorne.”
Abigail’s hand went to her throat.
From inside the house came a baby’s laugh.
Megan went completely still.
Abigail noticed.
Something changed in her face—not guilt, but fear.
“Jonathan,” she called, her voice shaking.
A tall man appeared behind her, holding a little girl in a pale green onesie.
Lily.
Rowan knew before anyone said her name.
Not because of the blond curls, though they were there.
Not because of the Bellamy crease between her brows, which appeared when she stared at strangers with solemn suspicion.
He knew because Megan made a sound like her heart had recognized its missing piece.
The baby turned toward the sound.
For a moment, the world narrowed to a porch, a doorway, and a child held between two families.
