The hospital slowly disappeared in my rearview mirror while Nora slept beside me in her car seat. For the first time in thirteen days, I finally let myself breathe. Thirteen days in the NICU. Thirteen nights of going home to an empty apartment. Now, my tiny daughter was finally coming home\u2014four pounds, eleven ounces, breathing on her own, with one tiny fist tucked beside her cheek. I truly believed the worst was behind us.<\/p>\n
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Nora had her father Caleb\u2019s dark curls, his cleft chin, and his unusual eyes\u2014one bright blue, the other so dark it looked almost black. The doctors called it harmless heterochromia. \u201cSomeone in the family probably has it,\u201d the nurse said. But Caleb had disappeared the night I told him I was pregnant. No goodbye. No explanation. My grandfather, Walter, had raised me after my parents died and had promised we would be fine without Caleb. Yet when I brought Nora to his house, everything changed. The moment Grandpa saw her eyes, his face went white. He whispered, \u201cWho is her father?\u201d When I said Caleb\u2019s name, he trembled. Then he looked at me and said, \u201cYour mother used to be Caleb\u2019s nanny.\u201d<\/p>\n
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