I had started calling her Hope.
Gabriel was asleep down the hallway beneath his favorite dinosaur blanket.
“You don’t get to suddenly appear here,” I told Ryan.
“Ivy, please. Just let me explain.”
“Explain?”
I pointed toward the bassinet.
“I’ve been awake since four this morning taking care of the daughter you left in my arms.”
He flinched.
Good.
I wanted those words to hurt.
“The doctors started talking about surgery,” he said. “Therapy. Specialists. Braces. Years of treatment.”
“She’s your daughter.”
“I know.”
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“You held her for maybe ten seconds before handing her back like something you wanted refunded.”
“I know.”
I gripped the kitchen counter.
“The doctor called yesterday. Her condition is manageable. She may need surgery and therapy, but she has every chance of having a full life.”
Ryan looked down.
“That isn’t what I was thinking.”
“Then what were you thinking?”
He sat on one of the kitchen stools.
And suddenly, my brother seemed to collapse in on himself.
Then he said,
“I lost my job.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Four months ago.”
My anger briefly disappeared beneath confusion.
“What do you mean you lost your job?”
“Right after the second-trimester scan.”
Then he said the part that made everything worse.
“Melissa doesn’t know.”
I stared at him.
“Ryan.”
“Every morning, I put on my shirt and tie like I’m going to work. Then I sit in a coffee shop until five.”
He rubbed his face.
“I send applications. I’ve had two interviews. Neither went anywhere.”
I thought about all the times I had seen him checking his phone.
“The appointments.”
“I was applying for jobs.”
