Give me my Baby

Anthony

“A-Anthony…what are…where have…you have to go!” Simone sputtered, attempting to close the door in my face. I wedged my cane in the door, refusing to leave as she demanded. “You need to leave before I call the police.”

“What are you going to tell them? That you stole a baby from the hospital?”

She wrenched the door open and confronted me, giving me enough room to force myself in.

“No! Get out!” she shouted as she followed me through the apartment. I moved fast with my cane; the constant pain seemed to ebb away the closer I reached my daughter’s nursery. I stopped outside the door that was decorated with a pink and gold glittered wooden ‘N’ hanging from it.

N. I wonder what her name is.

“You forced yourself into my home. I’m calling the police.”

“You do that,” I said, ignoring her empty threat.

I entered the nursery and almost considered turning back around. The room was decorated in soft pinks and lilacs, fitting for a princess. I was drawn to the white crib nestled under a sheer white canopy.

“You can’t just show up after a year and take her away from me after you abandoned her!”

Simone’s accusations didn’t sit well with me. Anger and bitterness roiled inside of me chaotically. I was always present for Simone and my child—every appointment, maternity clothes shopping, the occasional late-night craving, and the intimate baby shower we had for my daughter—just the two of us.

How dare she?

I whirled around and confronted her. “I did not abandon her!” I seethed angrily. “The driver of an 18-wheeler thought it was a good idea to take a nap behind the wheel and t-boned me. I was in a coma for over a year. That is why I missed her birth, but I swear to you, I made plans to find her as soon as I woke.” My confession softened her hard features as she took in my injuries for the first time. “I don’t have to ask you for permission, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to meet my daughter for the first time.”

The soft light from the nightlight illuminated the fresh tears in her eyes. Surely, my presence was unsettling and unexpected. Over the nine months, I’d gotten to know Simone on a personal level. She was kind, sweet, and nurturing—everything a mother should be. I had no doubt that she bonded with my child, and it was clear she took excellent care of her as if she were her own. But…she wasn’t hers…she was mine. Some might say I was cruel and heartless for what I was about to do, but I had no choice.

“Please…take a seat,” she whispered, pointing to a rocking chair in the corner of the room. I responded with a gentle nod and limped to the chair. The sound of my daughter babbling filled the bedroom as Simone gathered her from the crib. My heart swelled and galloped in anticipation. I recalled how nervous but prepared I was as Simone entered the final stretch of her pregnancy. She teased me about my “nesting.” She could be a wise-ass joker sometimes, but it was endearing.

“What is her name?” I asked, clearing the emotion from my throat.

“Nori…Nori Livingston.”

I chuckled ruefully. “Livingston, huh?”

“What else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t put your name on the birth certificate without you being present. It was either that or foster care.”

Simone held Nori close to her chest and buried her nose in a mop of black curls that were similar to mine. She closed her eyes and inhaled, most likely committing the scent to memory. I’d yet to see my daughter’s face, but I was already in love. It took everything in me not to make impatient grabby hands at her, but I had waited long enough. Simone kissed her head reverently and handed her to me. My outstretched hands shook nervously but ceased as soon as they made contact with her.