“I KNOW.”
All three babies cried harder.
I rubbed both hands over my face.
Mrs. Coleman softened.
“We can call child services tonight.”
I looked at her.
She continued carefully.
“There are families prepared for situations like this. People with homes. Money. Experience.”
She was right.
Every practical part of my brain knew she was right.
I reached into Sophie’s carrier because she was crying the loudest.
The second I lifted her, she grabbed a fistful of my work shirt.
Then she stopped crying.
Just like that.
Her little head settled against my chest.
Oil stains.
Sweat.
Metal dust.
She didn’t care.
She simply held on.
Brooke began kicking.
Lily made a squeaking noise from the other carrier.
I stared down at Sophie.
“You don’t even know me.”
Mrs. Coleman was quiet.
Sophie opened her eyes.
Melissa’s eyes.
That nearly broke me.
I thought about my brother.
About those three girls waking up tomorrow in a strange foster home.
Maybe together.
Maybe not.
I had no idea.
And I suddenly realized I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t put them in a car and watch someone drive them away.
“Mrs. Coleman?”
“Yes?”
“How do you make formula?”
She closed her eyes.
“Oh, Mason.”
“I’m serious.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Clearly.”
She studied me for several seconds.
Then she rolled up the sleeves of her robe.
“Go downstairs and get the clean towels from my dryer.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re about to discover what happens when three babies need changing at the exact same time.”
That was how it started.
