Page 4 of Make Your Save

This is my fifth contract now and the first that I’ve grown attached to where I’m living. It’s a place I could see myself calling home. It’s a shame there isn’t a full-time position available at the hospital, because I wouldn’t think twice to jump on that opportunity to extend my time here a little longer.

“Do you need anything while I’m out?” I ask Cole as I slide my purse up and over my shoulder. Neither of us are supposed to be working the night shift tonight, but two of our co-workers convinced us to switch with them so they could go to a concert.

Having to eat lunch at one o’clock in the morning is really weird.

Cole raises his eyebrows at me. “Please tell me you’re not eating gas station food.”

I snort, shaking my head as I roll my eyes at him. Cole is extremely health-conscious and I think the thought alone might make his brain hemorrhage. “Nottoday,” I tell him with a laugh. “I forgot my food at home, so I was going to run there and grab it.”

“I think I have everything I need here,” he says with a smile as he motions to his various containers now spread out on the table in front of him. “Damien never misses.”

“If you guys ever want to adopt a child, please let me know.” I bat my eyelashes at him, tilting my head to the side with a sweet grin as I press my hands beneath my chin. “I need someone to pack my lunches like that for me.”

Cole chuckles again, tilting his head to the side for a beat. “Let me call Damien and ask him if he wants to adopt a grown child.”

I lift my hand to my lips and blow him a kiss as I move toward the exit of the break room. “I knew I could count on you.”

Cole blows a kiss back, turning his attention down to his phone as he taps on the screen and then moves it to his ear. It’s almost one o’clock in the morning, but Damien tends to stay up to talk to Cole before he falls asleep.

The two of them are so sweet and adorable, sometimes it’s sickening.

I walk down the hallway, heading in the direction of the employee exit when I see the cleaning crew are currently working on sanitizing the floors down that stretch. I stop, waving to one of them as they lift their hand to me and I turn back in the direction I came from, moving to the front of the building.

Late at night like this, it’s usually quiet here. The front desk is typically occupied by Janet, who usually has her nose buried in a book, although she’s not there when I walk past. Labor and delivery is where there’s a little more hustle and bustle, but tonight they floated Cole and me to the postpartum care unit, so it’s been pretty laid-back.

I slip through the lobby and past the sliding glass doors that lead into a small corridor before the main entrance. A weird feeling slides over my shoulder, almost like my phone vibrated, which is weird at this hour. Shifting my purse, I attempt to reach inside to pull out the device, but instead I knock my bag onto the floor.

My footsteps halt, annoyance washing over me as I watch two lip balms roll on the floor, along with the rest of my belongings strewn across the ground.

“Damn it,” I mutter, dropping down to my knees as I begin to collect my things. I move my bag closer, holding it open as I start to toss things back into it, not caring where they fall inside. I find my phone and there isn’t even anything on it. It was a phantom notification.

A soft whimper, followed by an exhale, sounds from behind me, catching me off guard and half scaring me. I quickly glance over my shoulder, tucking my phone into my back pocket, seeing that I am, in fact, completely alone. “What the hell?” I laugh to myself, shaking my head as I start to climb to my feet. “I’m around babies so much, I hear them everywhere I?—”

My sentence is interrupted by the sound of a cry. Soft and barely audible, but it’s there. I’m not hearing things. I know the sound of a real baby and that was notmy imagination. I glance around, my gaze surveying the corridor, coming to a stop when I see the safe haven station. The small bassinet shifts and that’s when I realize it isn’t empty.

Our safe haven station is an area that the hospital has set up for mothers to safely give their babies up anonymously. It protects them from being charged with child abandonment while allowing them somewhere safe to leave their child. There’s a bassinet to leave the infant inside and there’s a bell that’s normally triggered by the door opening and again when the baby is placed inside.

My feet move without a second thought or hesitation as I secure my bag over my shoulder again. I look back at the front desk, seeing Janet is still nowhere to be seen. My heart pounds in my chest as adrenaline spills into my veins. I don’t know how she didn’t hear the bell, unless it’s not working properly.

As I reach the bassinet, it shifts again, the infant inside growing restless. I look down, my chest constricting as I see the sweet little one with a pastel pink hat on, breaking out of the white blanket it’s swaddled in. There’s no hesitation as I reach into the bassinet, lifting the baby into my arms to console. It’s a stupid move on my part, considering infection control and a number of health concerns, but I can’t bear the sight of the distress setting in.

Two pieces of paper and an envelope fall onto the tiny mattress as I tuck the baby against my body. “Shh,” I murmur, wrapping my arm to hold the infant close as I use my other hand to retrieve the papers. My eyesscan the first piece of paper, seeing it’s a birth certificate. My forehead creases as I briefly scan it, seeing the baby’s name listed as Lucille Maeve Taylor.

A little girl.

Adrenaline has completely taken over my entire body and I feel like I’m moving through a dream right now. An alternate reality where I have no idea what the hell is really happening here. When I flip to the envelope, confusion washes over me as I see a name written in cursive across it.

Rowan Taylor.

What the hell?

My attention immediately moves to the last piece of paper, my stomach feeling like it’s going to fall out when I realize it isn’t a piece of paper. It’s a photograph...

Of Rowan.

My mind cannot process or keep up with the information unfolding in front of me. Scratched on the other side of the photograph in the same cursive handwriting are three short sentences.

Rowan Taylor is her father. He can give her a better life than I ever could.

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