The first thing that hit me as I stepped into their yard was the sight of dozens of baby diapers hanging on clotheslines. Some carried faint yellow stains, others had traces of milk.
I froze.
My in-laws were in their sixties—far too old to raise a child. And none of our relatives had left a baby in their care. My mind spun. Whose diapers were these? What kind of secret had been hiding here?
I stepped into the house, heart hammering, hands trembling. The rooms were unnaturally quiet, but the faint smell of formula lingered in the air. On the kitchen table lay a half-empty feeding bottle, untouched. I swallowed hard, trying to calm my racing thoughts. Could Peter be hiding something from me?
The Cry That Broke My Heart
Then, from the bedroom my husband and I always used during visits, came the unmistakable cry of a baby.
