The baby is crying. The sound is so sharp and loud, it cracks the air like a whip. I stir for a moment, but I think it’s a dream and try to fall back asleep. When the cry gets louder and more desperate, reality sinks into my brain and I sit up. I place a hand on my forehead. It comes away drenched in sweat.

Shit, I think as the baby’s cry ratchets up another notch. I sweep back the covers and turn on the light, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. I still can’t believe Damien put an infant in my hands, and that he’s convinced we will one day be a real married couple, even though he kidnapped me and drugged me so I’d marry him.

My head is filled with fog as my feet touch the soft carpet, and like a zombie, I pad to the baby’s crib, wondering what time it is. The shutters are closed and there’s no clock, so I have no way of knowing. My guess is it’s sometime between midnight and dawn.

I blink away some of the fog, suck in a deep breath, and look into the crib.

As though a button has been pushed, the baby stops crying and the room fills with sudden silence. A lump forms inside my throat when his entire face breaks into a smile, his cheeks flushed pink, eyes bright with tears. Inside his sleep sack, he draws his little legs toward his tummy and then kicks them out in excitement.

“It’s okay, little one,” I whisper as I pick him up, one hand under his neck and head, and the other supporting his bottom.

The gentle smell of baby shampoo and powder surrounds both of us first, but that layer peels off to reveal one that’s a little less pleasant. I do my best to hold him the way Hanna had earlier. Hanna returned again a few minutes later to run me through the basics of caring for a baby: how to hold him, change him, and feed him.

I sat on the bed the entire time, pretending not to be listening. While I still believed Damien was playing a game and would come for the baby before the day was over, I listened, because underestimating him would be an even more dangerous game.

Before leaving, Hanna put a folder on my nightstand with the most important information I would need, should I forget something.

When the shutters closed and the baby was still with me, I’d gone through the folder briefly, fuming. Despite my hatred for Damien, the fact remains that I have a fragile human being to care for. I cannot mess up. The baby is innocent. I will not punish him for Damien’s evils.

“You need changing, don’t you?” Ensuring his neck is well supported, I move his head to the crook of my arm. “Let’s give it a try, shall we. Forgive me in advance if I get it wrong, okay?”

The baby gives a soft coo.

My heart clenches as I move him to the changing table. During the whole process of changing the diaper, I do my best to push away any thoughts of Damien. After several messy attempts at cleaning the baby up, I pull the front half of the new diaper up to his tummy and fasten it at both sides with the tabs. I redo it twice to make sure I get a snug fit, not too tight.

The baby coos again and plugs his thumb into his mouth.

A sigh of relief whooshes out of my lungs. “I’m glad you’re happy. Now, let’s feed you so we can both get back to sleep.”

Preparing the bottle takes me longer than changing the diaper; I carefully read the instructions on the formula but still make several mistakes along the way. When the bottle is ready, I screw the cap back on the thermos flask, and sprinkle a few drops of the bottled milk on the inside of my wrist. Perfect.

I lean against my pillows with the baby cradled in my arms as he sucks furiously on the bottle, the fingers of his right hand curled around my thumb.

Swallowing a sob, I touch the warm, soft crown of his head. His dark curls cling to my fingers. “You’re so beautiful. Who wouldn’t want you?” His mouth curls at the corners and I return his smile, my first in days or weeks. “Don’t worry. They’ll find you a good home with amazing parents.”

The baby gazes deep into my eyes and a thread of mutual comfort passes between us. I continue my soothing talk. “I hope you end up with a better life than mine.” I give him a bitter smile. “Mine is a bit complicated right now. If you happen to see me looking sad, it’s not your fault.”

One of my tears drops onto the baby’s nose, and I wipe it off with a finger. For a moment he stops sucking the bottle and blinks at me several times. His eyes are drooping now.

He’s changed, fed, and ready to sleep again. But he’s not done with the bottle yet. The sucking starts again. He raises a chubby hand to touch my chin. Is he telling me to continue talking? I sniff as I shake my head. “No,” I whisper. “I don’t want to burden your little life with my problems. You won’t understand.”

I watch him finish his bottle in silence and his eyes close. Long after the feeding, I’m still holding him. At this moment in time, he feels like my lifeline.