“If you don’t open, we will.”
Mrs. Harper inhaled deeply and unlocked the door.
Two officers entered. Behind them stood a tall man in a tailored suit, rain clinging to his coat. His gaze locked instantly on the basket.
“There they are,” he said quietly. “The Caldwell triplets.”
Isabella stepped in front of them.
“Please don’t take them,” she pleaded. “I’ve been taking care of them. No one came.”
“This isn’t your decision,” one officer replied.
The suited man crouched slightly to meet her eyes. His voice was controlled, but urgency flickered beneath it.
“Where did you find them?”
“In the park,” she answered. “It was raining. They were cold.”
He made a phone call.
Hours later, Isabella sat in a sterile white room that felt colder than the rain. The babies had been wheeled away, their soft cries fading down the corridor. Each sound felt like something tearing loose inside her.
“Can I see them?” she asked.
No one answered.
They questioned her for hours—her name, her living situation, why she took them. When she mentioned the group home, they exchanged uneasy glances.
“This could become complicated,” a woman in a blazer muttered. “Mr. Caldwell is very influential.”