Before I even had the chance to fire up the coffee pot the next morning, Lisa Harper walked right through my front door. Lisa had been Sarah’s closest confidante since their high school days. She was a permanent fixture in our home, constantly filling the kitchen with her booming laugh and exhausting, dramatic stories.
Frankly, I never cared for her. She was single, didn’t have kids of her own, and always seemed to be lingering around our business. I had complained to Sarah countless times, begging her to keep Lisa out of my hair when I actually had a few days off the road. Sarah would inevitably roll her eyes, brushing me off by saying Lisa was practically family.
Today, however, my perspective violently shifted. The minute the hospital made the call, Lisa had materialized out of nowhere, demanding absolutely nothing. She immediately scooped up Mia and Ava, taking them back to her apartment to spare them the trauma while I sat rotting in the waiting room.
“I’ve got the girls,” Lisa announced from the living room, her curly hair tied up in a chaotic bun. “They’re okay, just confused. I’ll bring them back later. How’s the little guy?”
“Hungry,” I admitted, rubbing my exhausted face and glancing toward the nursery. “I… I didn’t think to get formula or anything.”
Her expression softened instantly. She lifted a bulky plastic grocery sack.
“Got you covered. Bottles, formula, diapers—the works. Picked it up last night.”
I let out a ragged breath. The relief washed over me, tangling with my bone-deep exhaustion. “Thanks, Lisa. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
She just waved her hand, already marching toward the kitchen to prep a bottle. The baby’s cries were escalating, slicing through the quiet morning air with sharp, demanding wails. I trailed behind her, watching in silence as she expertly measured and mixed the powdered formula, her hands incredibly steady for such a miserable morning.
She peeled back the blue flannel, revealing an incredibly pale infant with a tuft of wispy blond hair. Right there, on his left cheek, was a faint birthmark shaped exactly like a teardrop.
“Look at this little angel,” Lisa cooed, rocking him gently in her arms. “So fair! Doesn’t look much like you or Sarah, huh? What’s this on his cheek? Dirt?”
She started rubbing her thumb against the mark, her brow furrowing. I leaned in, my own forehead creasing. The boy’s porcelain skin and light hair clashed wildly against my dark features and permanent tan, not to mention Sarah’s rich chestnut curls.
A sudden, insane thought flashed through my brain—did the nurses hand me the wrong kid? I immediately shoved the ridiculous idea away.
“Stop scrubbing,” I ordered, my tone coming out way harsher than I intended. “It’s a birthmark, not dirt. You’ll hurt him.”
Lisa went rigid, then gave a quick nod as a flush crept up her neck.
“Right, sorry. He’s just so… different. Anyway, you got a name yet?”
“Noah,” I answered, the word falling out of my mouth automatically. Sarah and I had kicked that name around for months, a nod to her deep affection for those old Sunday school stories.
“Noah,” Lisa echoed, flashing a small smile. “Fits him. Don’t worry about Noah today, Ethan. I’ll handle him and the girls. You focus on… what’s next.”
I gave a tight nod, swallowing past the knot in my throat.
“I’m heading to Willow Creek Funeral Home. Gotta set up Sarah’s service, the reception after.”
“There’s a catering place by the highway, does good food cheap,” she suggested quickly.
My jaw locked tight. “No. Sarah gets the best. No cutting corners.”
“I get it,” Lisa backpedaled. “But with three kids, money’s gonna be tight.”
“I’ve got savings,” I snapped. “We’ll manage.”
It wasn’t a lie. A decade of hauling freight across the map had built a solid safety net. It was enough to cover the Oak Street house, pay off that Equinox, and still leave a comfortable cushion for emergencies.
I had always harbored a pipe dream of leaving the rig behind to open my own mechanic shop. I wanted to be my own boss, tuning engines all day and actually being home when dinner hit the table.
I used to picture Sarah laughing in the office while the kids sprinted through the garage bays with motor oil smudged on their cheeks. That specific future had just been ripped away, but the bank account was still there, and I was going to drain it to honor my wife.
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