Three

      Jeannie all but collapsed onto the concrete step in front of Nicole’s house, too numb to even weep.

      No, that was wrong. This was her house now.

      Nicole was dead.

      And since there were no other living family members, Jeannie had inherited what Nicole had owned. Including their childhood home.

      Everything left was hers now. The sensible used family sedan. The huge past-due bills to fertility clinics. The cost of burying her sister.

      The baby.

      It was too much.

      Death was bad enough because it had taken Nicole, leaving Jeannie with nothing but wispy memories of a happy family. But who knew dying was so complicated? And expensive? Who knew unraveling a life would involve so much damned paperwork?

      That didn’t even account for Melissa. That baby girl was days old. It wasn’t right that she would never know her mother. It wasn’t right that the family Nicole had wanted for so long...

      Jeannie scrubbed at her face. It wasn’t Melissa’s fault that delivery had been complicated or that Nicole had developed a blood clot that had gone undiagnosed until it was too late. Dimly, Jeannie knew she needed to sue the hospital. This wasn’t the 1800s. Women weren’t supposed to die giving birth. But Jeannie couldn’t face the prospect of more paperwork, of more responsibilities. She could barely face the next ten minutes.

      She looked up at the sky, hoping to find a star to guide her. One little twinkling bit of hope. But this was Chicago. The city’s light pollution was brighter than any star, and all that was left was a blank sky with a reddish haze coloring everything. Including her world.

      She was supposed to be at work. She was supposed to be fixing the perfect Manhattan for the perfect Dr. Robert Wyatt, the man whose tipping habits had made her feel financially secure for the first time in her life. A hundred bucks a night, five nights a week, for almost three years—Dr. Robert Wyatt had single-handedly given Jeannie the room to breathe. To dream of her own place, her own rules...

      Of course, now that she had an infant to care for and a mortgage and bills to settle, she couldn’t breathe. She’d be lucky if her job at Trenton’s was still there when she was able to go back. If she would be able to go back. Julian might hold her job for another week or so, but Jeannie knew he wouldn’t hold it for two months. Because after an initial search of newborn childcare in Chicago, she knew that was what she’d need. Jeannie had found only day care that accepted six-week-old babies, but the price was so far out of reach that all she’d been able to do was laugh and close the browser. If she wanted childcare before Melissa was two months old, she needed a lot of money. And that was something she simply didn’t have. Even if she sued the hospital, put the house on the market, sold the family sedan—it still wouldn’t be enough fast enough.

      Even though there were no stars to see, she stared hard at that red sky. This time she caught a flicker of light high overhead. It was probably just an airplane, but she couldn’t risk it. She closed her eyes and whispered to herself, “Star light, star bright, grant me the wish I wish tonight.”

      She couldn’t wish Nicole back. She couldn’t undo any of the loss or the pain that had marked Jeannie’s life so far. Looking back was a trap, one she couldn’t get stuck in. She had no choice but to keep moving forward.

      “I need help,” she whispered.

      Financial assistance, baby help, emotional support—you name it, she needed it.

      There was a moment of blissful silence—no horns honking in the distance, no neighbors shouting, not even the roar of an airplane overhead.

      But if Jeannie was hoping for an answer to her prayers, she didn’t get it because that was when the small sound of Melissa starting to cry broke the quiet.

      Sucking in a ragged breath, Jeannie dropped her head into her hands. She needed just a few more seconds to think but...

      The baby didn’t sleep.

      Was that because Jeannie wasn’t Nicole? Or was Melissa sick? Could Jeannie risk the cost of taking Melissa to the emergency room? Or...there was a pediatrician who’d stopped at the hospital before Melissa was discharged. But it was almost ten at night. If anyone answered the phone, they’d probably tell her to head to the ER.

      The only person she knew who knew anything at all about small children was Dr. Wyatt, but it wasn’t like she could ask him for advice about a fussy newborn. He was a surgeon, not a baby whisperer.

      Jeannie had helped organize a shower for Nicole with some of Nicole’s teacher friends and she had picked out some cute onesies. That was the sum total of Jeannie’s knowledge about newborns. She wasn’t sure she was even doing diapers right.

      “Please,” she whispered as Melissa’s cries grew more agitated, although she knew there would be no salvation. All she could do was what she had always done—one foot in front of the other.

      Jeannie couldn’t fail that baby girl or her sister. But more than that, she couldn’t give up on this family. She and Nicole had just started again. It felt particularly cruel to have that stolen so soon.

      A car door slammed close enough that Jeannie glanced up. And looked again. A long black limo was blocking traffic in the middle of the street directly in front of the house. A short man wearing a uniform, complete with a matching hat, was opening the back door. He stood to the side and a man emerged from the back seat.

      Not