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And then I felt the baby, my baby, slip out of me. I heard Dr. Keller and my mom shrieking and crying with joy, and I watched from the corner of my tired, tired eyes as they cleaned a tiny face, a tiny body.
And then there the baby was—there she was, my little girl—so pink and wrinkly and perfect, wrapped in a soft yellow blanket and resting in my arms.
• • •
I had just said my weepy, grateful good-byes to Dr. Keller and my family, all of whom had spent the last two days since the baby was born alternatingly cooing, crying—happy, relieved, amazed tears—and waiting on both of us hand and foot. My parents had promised to visit again as soon as possible, hopefully with Ha
I would never be going back home.
After they’d driven away, I shut myself up in my room, just me and my baby. It was the first time we’d been alone together, no grandparent or aunt or doting doctor hovering at our side. I was propped up in my bed, staring down at her precious face—staring, though I had certainly memorized every piece of her by now, every last wrinkle and freckle and adorable fluff of dark brown hair. I saw myself there, but I saw details that I couldn’t identify, too, like a canvas that I’d started painting, but someone else had finished. She had my full lips and my round nose, and my wide eyes, eyes that were already bursting with curiosity and intelligence. But where my eyes were blue, hers were green. A piercing, emerald green, a green that you couldn’t look away from once they’d caught you in their grip.
A green that I could never, would never forget.
She was mesmerizing, my still u
The time will come, she’d said. You’ll know when it does.
The words still gave me chills.
But I wanted more than that. I wanted to know what I was up against.
I wanted to know if my little girl would be obviously, glaringly special, and not just special in the way that most parents probably saw their own child. Would she be too different from other kids? Would other people see it, feel it somehow, a shimmer, a prickle, without understanding what it could possibly mean? Who she could possibly be? I hoped not, for her sake. I hoped not, with a dread and a conviction that I’d never felt before I’d held her in my arms. I wanted her to fit in, to be like every other kid. I wanted her to blend in with the rest of the world. Because what would happen to her if the truth came out? If people had fixated so fiercely on me—so much hate from some, so much adoration from others—I couldn’t help but think it would be even worse for her. Much worse.
But—and this thought scraped at me, gnawed and bit and tugged no matter how hard I tried to keep it shackled down—why would she be here at all if her life would be a secret? There was a reason for this. Iris had made that much clear. And I doubted that the reason involved her living an ordinary, invisible kind of life.
I still hadn’t told Jesse about that final moment with Iris, or about the leaf, which was now safely pressed between the pages of A
A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I took a deep breath, sweeping all the worries and unanswered questions back into their dark corner. My fingers trailed along the charm bracelet on my wrist, the birthday present from Gracie that I never took off, and I willed myself to remember that they were still there—that they were always still there, just a call or a two-hour drive away.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Jesse peeked in before stepping into the room, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of delicious-smelling chocolate chip cookies.
“I know you probably wanted to just be alone right now, but Maria baked these fresh for you,” he said, a nervous smile on his lips. “She thought it would be the best cure for homesickness.”
“She’s so amazing,” I said, patting the crumpled sheets on the bed next to me. He put the tray down on the nightstand and settled in beside me, reaching out to stroke the baby’s dark and feathery hair. “And so are you.” My cheeks flamed, but I kept going. “You’re beyond amazing, really. I still can’t believe everything you’re sacrificing for me. I think I could spend the rest of my life thanking you and it still wouldn’t be anywhere close to enough.”
“There was no other choice, Mina,” he said, his voice steady, so matter-of-fact as he turned his face to look me in the eyes. “You need a safe place for you and the baby. And I . . . well, I need you. I wasn’t going to let you run away from me, too. Not a chance.”
He reached out, his hand soft and gentle as he found my fingers and laced his around mine.
“It’s not going to be easy,” I said, though it was difficult to think properly with the sensation of his thumb rubbing circles on my palm. “It might never be easy.”
Jesse leaned in closer, and I shut my eyes as his lips met mine. It was a very different kiss from that first eager, thrilling touch on my birthday or the desperate, pleading demand of New Year’s Eve. This kiss was slow and sweet and steady. There was no rush, no urgency, because this kiss was a begi
After a few minutes we broke apart.
“I told you that night at Frankie’s, out on the stoop. I want a little crazy in my life. Remember? And besides that, I made a promise to Iris . . .” He paused, his eyes burning into mine. “I saw her, Mina. At the protest. Only for a second or so, right when you went down. Maybe I imagined it, but she looked so real. So completely real. It’s crazy, but I felt like she was looking out for you.”
“It’s not crazy,” I said, feeling instantly lighter and more hopeful than I had in a very long time. “Not crazy at all.”
I could tell that he wanted to ask more, but he didn’t know where to start. “Iris . . .” He said, shaking his head.
“Iris,” I repeated, the name a delicate, warming hum on my lips. “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
I smiled, raising my baby up to look straight into her perfect green eyes.
“Iris?” I looked at her and I knew. “Yes. Iris.”
• • •
This is the end, but this is also the begi
This is the story that I’ll wait to tell you until life—inevitably, I suspect—forces the truth to the surface. A secret that I hope to keep buried until you are old enough to ask and understand your own questions. Old enough to know that life is not always what you expect, that reality is not always as neat and orderly as it may seem—and that there aren’t always answers, as much as we want them, as hard as we may try to seek them out.
This is the story of how you came to be, of falling in love, of starting down new paths.
This is the story of a miracle.
Acknowledgments
Even before I worked in publishing, I would always start a book by flipping through to the last page—not to take a peek at the ending (never!), but to read the acknowledgments first. I was curious about whom an author would thank, and how they would do so. Because a book is never born from just one person. It is shaped by so many hands—before, while, after the actual writing takes place. And now, better than ever, I appreciate just how true that really is. I am incredibly blessed to be surrounded by so much love, so much inspiration, and so much talent every single day of my life.