Talia was standing still, looking straight at him.
She raised her hand.
And pointed.
“Daddy,” she said. “I saw you.”
The room went silent.
Daniel let out a nervous laugh.
“What? No, sweetheart—”
“I woke up,” she said quietly. “I heard the door. I looked outside. You were holding something.”
She swallowed.
“I thought it was a kitten.”
The baby whimpered in my arms.
My hands started shaking.
“When I went outside… he was there.”
I looked at Daniel.
Slowly.
“Why would she say that?”
“Because she’s scared!” he snapped.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
Then softer:
“Please… just call 911.”
“Why don’t you?” I asked.
That’s when I saw it.
A small folded note tucked inside the blanket.
I pulled it out.
My stomach dropped.
It had his name on it.
Only his name.
Nothing else.
But it was enough.
Everything inside me went cold.
“Call them,” I said.
He didn’t move.
Right then, the front door opened.
His mother walked in, smiling, holding groceries.
Then she saw us.
And Daniel.
Frozen.
“What happened?”
“Tell your mother to call 911,” I said, without looking away from him. “Since you won’t.”
Something changed in her face.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
She pulled out her phone.
The next minutes were chaos.
Sirens.
Questions.
A police officer kneeling in front of Talia.
“What did you see?”
“Daddy had the baby first.”
Daniel swallowed hard.
“I found him outside. I panicked. I moved him.”
The words hit like glass breaking.
“You what?”
“There was a note with my name,” he said. “I didn’t want you to—”
“To know,” I finished.
Silence.
“You let our daughter find him,” I said. “You let her walk into this so you could pretend.”
His mother stepped in.
“Isobel, please—”
“No.”
My voice didn’t rise.
But it cut.
“This is exactly when we tell the truth.”
The officer held out her hand.
“Sir, your phone.”
He hesitated.
