Chapter 5: Three A.M.

At three in the morning Poppy would not stop crying.

I had fed her, changed her and walked her up and down the hall in Byron's wool socks.

She screamed anyway, red-faced and furious, with her fists in the air.

"I'm doing it wrong," I said to the kitchen.

"You're not," said Byron.

He was standing in the doorway in a gray T-shirt and flannel pants, with his hair flat on one side.

"You should be asleep," I said.

"So should you."

"I have a reason. She's mine."

"I have a farm," he said. "Chores start at five. I'm already losing."

He held out his arms.

I hesitated, and then I put my daughter in them.

He held her against his chest with one big hand under her head, and he swayed in place, humming something low and tuneless.

Poppy hiccupped twice and went quiet.

I stared at him.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing," said Byron. "I'm warm, and she likes the beard."

I laughed, and it came out wet and cracked.

Then I was crying.

I hadn't cried once since the delivery room, and now I couldn't stop.

I sat down hard at the kitchen table, and I put my face in my hands.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's just that she was in my kitchen, wearing my sweater."

Keep reading free with an account. Start He Married My Best Friend While I Gave Birth, So I Left from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.