A strange chill moved through me.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Instead of answering, she crouched beside the carrier and brushed one finger across the baby’s cheek.
“Her name is Ava,” she whispered.
Then she stood.
“And my name is Sabrina.”
“Sabrina, whatever is happening, you don’t have to face it alone. Come inside. We can work something out.”
For one brief second, a faint smile touched her lips.
“I know you can.”
Then she turned and ran.
“Sabrina!”
I hurried after her, leaving the baby carrier beneath the porch roof. But by the time I reached the sidewalk, the young woman had disappeared around the corner.
Rain blurred the streetlights. No car pulled away. No footsteps echoed from the pavement.
She was simply gone.
Behind me, the baby began to whimper.
I turned toward the porch.
The little girl had opened her eyes.
They were wide, dark brown, and completely trusting.
“It’s all right,” I murmured as I lifted the carrier.
I wasn’t sure whether I was speaking to Ava or to myself.
