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The words hung heavy in the hot, dusty air.
Owen stared at her like he did not want to understand.
Hope and shock moved across his face at the same time, so quick and raw Vera almost looked away out of reflex.
Vera swallowed.
“I lost my daughter six months ago,” she said. “My body hasn’t forgotten.”
Owen’s breath caught.
“You would?” He started, then stopped like the words were too big to hold. “You would do that for him?”
Vera looked at the baby.
Not Owen.
“For him,” Vera said. “Not for you.”
The old man snored.
Owen glanced at them, then back at Vera.
He looked like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, trying to decide if the fall was worse than staying.
He reached up and pulled a thin curtain across a rod, creating a small corner of privacy in a coach that offered almost none.
The curtain was faded, more symbolic than solid, but it was something.
Vera sat down behind it, heart pounding.
Her hands trembled, but she forced them steady.
And it was also something the world would talk about.
A widow nursing a rich rancher’s child.
People would have opinions, and those opinions could ruin a woman faster than hunger.
Owen stood on the other side of the curtain, the baby still screaming.
His voice came low and tight.
“Are you sure?”
Vera’s throat closed, but she kept her voice calm.
“If you hand him to me, you cannot take it back halfway,” she said. “You have to choose.”
The baby shrieked again like he was begging for the choice to be made.
Owen hesitated for one breath.
Then he pushed the curtain aside just enough and handed his son into Vera’s arms like he was handing over his heart.
And Vera knew, the moment that small, angry body settled against her, that nothing about her life would be simple after this.
The baby fought her at first.
His face was red, his little body stiff with anger, and his cry filled the small space behind the thin curtain.
Vera held him the way she remembered holding Martha—careful and sure, supporting his head, drawing him close so he could feel warmth and steady breath.
“Shh,” she whispered, not because she thought it would fix anything, but because a baby needed to hear a voice that did not sound afraid. “Shh, little one.”
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