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All at once, all the fight drains out of me. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. She looks at me with incredulous eyes. “I am… I am sorry.”

She sniffs, pressing her cheek to the top of the kid’s head.

I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to pierce the skin. When I taste blood, I stop.

“Come in,” I say, standing to the side. I gesture.

Allison looks at me warily, but I can see the anger is draining from her, too. She’s covering the baby’s body with her own, pulling her close.

I lead them inside, pretending not to notice the way Allison’s eyes are analyzing my house.

I’ve only been here for a month. Not even.

After deployment, I wasn’t sure where to go. My head wasn’t screwed on right. I only came back here because Emily lives here.

Lived here.

I never made it to see her.

I cancelled last weekend. We were going to get dinner. She wanted to update me on her life.

I look at Maddison.

Icancelled.

I scrub my hands down my face. Allison sits on the couch I’ve led her to, and the baby sits on her lap, looking around.

My throat tight, I gesture.

“How old is she?” I ask.

Allison’s gaze is sharp, but she eventually gives in. “Eleven months.”

I inhale. “A year. She kept this from me for a year—”

“You didn’t call!” Allison snaps. “She waited, you know? When she first got pregnant—”

“Stop.”

Something in my voice must be firm because uncharacteristically, Allison listens.

She looks away. I take the opportunity to look at this little girl.

Maddison looks back at me. There’s something on her cheek. I squint, looking closer.

The kid’s eyes are bright and big, round as saucers, as her gummy smile tries to form over and over again, falling each time like she’s still not sure how to do it.

It’s a birthmark, I realize. The mark on her cheek.

Her chubby hand lifts, touching it.

I lift mine, too, touching the mark that’s still there, light and small as it has become over the years. I have the same birthmark as Maddison.

My heart breaks all over again.

“I’ll take her.” I say finally.

Allison’s eyes snap back to mine.