Page 32 of Baby Contract

“He’s gone.”

“That bastard.” She whirls on me. “Give me that.” She snaps her fingers toward Violet, who starts to make fussing noises at the sharp sound.

I stroke her back and adjust her pacifier. “Give you what?”

“The baby. That’s mine.”

“No. It’s Carr’s baby.”

“The hell it is.” She turns to the officers. “Arrest her. She kidnapped my baby.”

“Ma’am, if you would just hand over the child, we can be out of your hair,” says the uniformed officer. She has a round face and kind eyes. I hate lying to her, but this is for Violet’s sake.

“This baby is Carr McRae’s daughter.”

“And you are?”

“His fiancée.”

“That’s a lie,” gasps Megan.

I lift my chin. “It’s true. Once we are married, I plan to adopt her as my own.”

“That’s my baby!”

“What’s her name?”

“It’s ah-ah,” she sputters and then spits out, “Megan Jr.”

“Megan Jr,” I repeat incredulously.

The cops are looking at Megan with suspicious eyes. “Ma’am, do you have a birth certificate or some proof that this child is yours?”

“I don’t carry that around,” she says. She slaps her hands on her waist. “Arrest this stranger, and let me take my baby and go.”

The cops exchange looks, and then one of them dips their head. “Ma’am, we’re gonna take our leave. When you have evidence like a birth certificate, maternity test, and DNA testing, we will be back and help you, but until that time, I think maybe you should just talk this out.”

“No, wait, you can’t go.” Megan grabs one of their arms.

The woman cop shakes her off, and Errol holds open the door as they leave. Megan stamps her foot and then lets out a scream of frustration. Violet starts crying. Megan claps her hands over her ears and shouts, “Make her shut up.”

Of course, the noise only makes Violet louder.

“You’re making it worse.” I push Violet’s head against my chest and scowl at her bio mom. “What do you want?”

“Where is Carr?” she asks, avoiding my question.

“Not here.”

“You’re not his fiancée.”

“What does it matter?”

She raises a shaky hand to her temple. “I need to talk to him now.”

“I know you don’t want this baby, Megan. You didn’t even name her. What is it that you want? Money?”

“No shit, Sherlock. Looking at you”—she sneers, raking her eyes over my boring leggings and oversized shirt that has a milk stain from an early feeding session—“I know that you don’t understand how much money it takes to look like this, and I live a certain lifestyle, and it needs money to keep it up.”

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