Then his gaze shifted to the baby, who had finally stopped crying but was still shivering in my arms. “Are you sure it’s his?” Carl asked though we both knew the answer.
I nodded, tears starting to well up in my eyes.
“He’s Tommy’s.
I know it.”
Carl exhaled deeply, rubbing his temples. “We can’t keep him, Sarah. This isn’t our responsibility,” he said, his voice calm but firm, like he was trying to reason with me before I got too attached.
“But look at him,” I pleaded, holding the baby up just a little higher as if Carl could somehow see the desperation in my nephew’s eyes the way I could.
“He’s so small, and he’s cold.
He needs us.”
There was a long, heavy silence. Carl looked at the baby again, then at me.
I could see the conflict in his eyes — he was trying to be logical, trying to protect us from making a decision that could change everything.
