Against the Odds Read Free Page B

wanted Jamie
to be our biological child.” 
    “ Me, too. I’ve been
thinking about our biological daughter.” He takes a drink of his
water. “I wonder if she looks like you, what she acts like, what
her voice sounds like.” 
    “ I know. I wonder if I
would know her if I saw her. She’s our daughter, you would think
that we would be able to recognize her right
away.” 
    Robert says, “I hope she looks like
you.” 
    Robert
    Leah looks beautiful sitting in the shade
under the tree. I think she blushed when I said I hope our daughter
looks like her. “She’ll be five.” I blurt out.  
    “ Is that kindergarten
age?” 
    “ I think it
is.” 
    “ We’ll have a
five-year-old and a newborn in the same year.” 
    I still can’t get over that we have a
five-year-old, that our daughter is alive. I hope she’s alive. I
guess I’m assuming she’s hasn’t passed. What will the other family
think when they find out their daughter died? Will they grieve for
her as we did? Will they love her even though they don’t know her?
I love Jamie and I love my unknown daughter. I also love my unborn
baby. You don’t need to know them to love them. They will be just
as in love with Jamie as we are. They will mourn her loss just as
we did and still do.  
    “ Why do you look so sad?”
Leah asks.  
    “ Just
thinking.” 
    “ About
Jamie?” 
    “ Yes, and how sad it will
be for the other parents when they learn she’s gone.” I can’t say her biological
parents.   
    “ We should make copies of
photos, pictures, and relevant documents for
them.” 
    “ That’s probably a good
idea. I don’t want to part with the originals. In my heart, she’s
still ours.” 
    “ I know; I feel the same
way.” 
    We clean up and drive back home. We are both
quiet and I know we are thinking of the baby swap mess. Although I
don’t want to, my mind thinks about how I would feel if I learned
our daughter has passed. Imagine learning your child was switched
at birth, and then killed before you had a chance to meet her. My
heart breaks at the thought. I pray this isn’t the case and I also
pray that the other family will understand how much we loved Jamie
and how devastated we still are from her passing.  
    “ Do you want to stop for
some ice cream before we go home?” I ask. 
    “ I would love to, thank
you.” 
    Later that night, Leah and I discuss making
copies of some of Jamie’s pictures. We decide maybe tomorrow will
be better. To make copies of Jamie’s baby pictures somehow make
finalizes that Jamie isn’t our child and that she never was. Leah
cries and it kills me. I hate when she cries and when she is sad.
All I want to do is make her happy and it makes me feel like a
failure to not be able to do that for her. As much as I want to fix
this, there is no possible way I can. I can make it so it won’t
happen to us again.  
    “ Do we have permanent
markers?” I ask.  
    “ In the desk drawer,” Leah
yells from the kitchen. I walk to the desk drawer and open a new
pack of markers. “What are you going to do with that?” Leah
asks.  
    I open up the pack and mark an X in the palm
of my right hand. I blow on it for a second and try to wipe it off.
When it dries quickly and doesn’t smudge, I smile. I show Leah my
right hand and say, “It’s for the baby.” 
    She tries not to laugh but fails miserably.
“On both palms and both feet.” 
    “ Okay, sounds good.” I
smile still trying hard to wipe the marker
off.  
    “ No foreheads, cheeks, or
face.” 
    “ Palms and feet,” I repeat
so she knows I understand. 
    “ Good.” 
    “ Keep this in your purse,
or in the hospital overnight bag. I don’t want to forget
it.” 
    Leah takes it from me and places it in her
purse. “Keep it in here, I don’t want it to get lost with the baby
things.” 
    Leah and I go to bed and read from Jamie’s
story book. She complains of a backache and I wonder is it’s from
sitting on the hard