I look down at the blanket. It’s so small. More like a handkerchief thansomething for a human. “It won’t go to waste,” I remind her gently.
Wren smiles through her unshed tears. “It just feels so unfair. This baby wasnever meant to be mine.”
I shift uncomfortably. Tell her, asshole, demands an angry voice in my head.Tell her the truth. Tell her what happened to Rose.
It’s not the first time I’ve ignored that voice. It’s not the hundredth or thethousandth time, either, and it won’t be the last.
Because I just can’t f*****g bring myself to do it.
“‘Meant to be’ is one thing, Wren. ‘What is’ is a different thing altogether.”
She rubs a hand on her stomach absentmindedly. “It’s funny: Mom wasalways convinced that I would be the first one to have a ki
