When my brother proudly announced that his wife was pregnant with baby number five, my parents cheered like the whole family had been blessed. Dad smiled and said, “Great job, son,” but Mom’s eyes shifted straight to me. “You’ll handle the kids,”

watching them.”

“That is why I’m calling,” he said. “Your name and number were written on a note left on the kitchen counter.”

I stared at my bedroom wall, still in the same sweatpants I had worn to bed after crying harder than I wanted to admit.

“What note?”

He cleared his throat. “It said, ‘Olivia has the kids until noon. We’ll be at the clinic.’”

I closed continue reading …