Eric.
That was all.
No phone number.
No explanation.
No promise that he was coming back.
I read it again.
Then again.
As though another paragraph might magically appear if I stared long enough.
One of the babies began to fuss.
Sophie.
The smallest of the three.
I only knew because Melissa had once laughed and told me Sophie was “the tiny boss.”
I crouched beside her carrier.
“Hey.”
Her face scrunched.
“Don’t do that.”
She started crying.
“Oh, come on. I just got here.”
Her sisters joined her.
Within seconds, the hallway was filled with three screaming babies and one grown man having the first panic attack of his life.
My downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Coleman, opened her door.
She was nearly seventy and had appointed herself unofficial manager of every person’s business in the building.
“Mason?”
She came upstairs.
Then she saw the carriers.
Her eyes widened.
“Good Lord.”
“They’re Eric’s.”
“I know whose babies they are. Where is he?”
I handed her the note.
She read it once.
Her mouth tightened.
“That coward.”
I didn’t answer.
Because at that moment, I was too angry to defend him and too devastated to agree with her.
Mrs. Coleman looked at me.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mason, you’ve never even babysat one baby.”
“I know.”
“There are three.”
“I can count, Mrs. Coleman.”
She ignored that.
“You work twelve-hour shifts.”
“I know.”
“You have one bedroom.”
“I know.”
“You live on frozen burritos.”
“I KNOW.”
All three babies cried harder.
I rubbed both hands over my face.
Mrs. Coleman softened.
“We can call child services tonight.”
I looked at her.
She continued carefully.
“There are families prepared for situations like this. People with homes. Money. Experience.”
She was right.
Every practical part of my brain knew she was right.
I reached into Sophie’s carrier because she was crying the loudest.
The second I lifted her, she grabbed a fistful of my work shirt.
Then she stopped crying.
Just like that.
Her little head settled against my chest.
Oil stains.
Sweat.
Metal dust.
She didn’t care.
She simply held on.
Brooke began kicking.
Lily made a squeaking noise from the other carrier.
I stared down at Sophie.
“You don’t even know me.”
Mrs. Coleman was quiet.
Sophie opened her eyes.
Melissa’s eyes.
That nearly broke me.
I thought about my brother.
About those three girls waking up tomorrow in a strange foster home.
Maybe together.
Maybe not.
I had no idea.
And I suddenly realized I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t put them in a car and watch someone drive them away.
“Mrs. Coleman?”
“Yes?”
“How do you make formula?”
She closed her eyes.
