Chapter 97 A Motherless Crib
Valentina
The moment Matteo said Arianna’s name, I felt it.
That cold, clawing certainty.
“She’s not dead,” he added quickly, tugging his shirt down over his abs. “Just… gone.”
I blinked. “Gone?”
He grabbed his watch, slipping it on with the same ease as someone announcing the weather. “Doctor came in for rounds this morning to give discharge instructions and found her room empty. She never visited the baby. Hasn’t answered her phone.”
I froze. “Wait. She just left?”
Matteo met my eyes.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t look surprised.
“She left.”
I grabbed the edge of the bathroom sink to steady myself. “She hasn’t seen the baby?”
“Not once.”
The silence that followed was worse than any scream.
I convinced Matteo to just run through a drive-thru for a breakfast burrito so we could get out of the house faster. That at least made it seem like we were going to get to the hospital quicker l, even if in reality it would take just as much time to make the detour as it would have to just eat quickly at the house.
When we got to the hospital we went straight to the NICU. There was no sense in stopping by Arianna’s room, she had been long gone for who knows how long.
The NICU was calm, dimly lit, quiet enough to feel like a chapel.
Matteo walked ahead of me, nodding to a nurse who opened the glass doors without a word. Inside, we were greeted by a pediatric doctor—mid-forties, sharp eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“She’s doing very well,” he said, gesturing toward the open bassinet she now laid in rather than the incubator she was previously occupying.
My feet moved before I registered it. She looked so small—less wires now, fewer monitors. She had one tiny hand curled beside her cheek and a faint reddish mark on her temple like a kiss that never faded.
“She’s been breathing entirely on her own for over twenty-four hours. Bottle-feeding with no issues. And she passed the car seat test.”
I turned toward him, confused. “What’s the car seat test?”
Matteo answered before the doctor could. “They put newborns—especially preemies—in their car seat for about an hour and monitor vitals. If they don’t desaturate, it means they’re strong enough for the ride home.”
“And she passed?”
The doctor nodded. “Flying colors.”
“She can go home?” I asked quietly.
The doctor hesitated. “She can, yes. We were waiting on the mother to finalize discharge, but…” He looked at Matteo. “I understand there’s been a change.”
“She left sometime overnight,” Matteo said. “Didn’t tell anyone. No forwarding number. She’s abandoned the child. Which makes us the next of kin.”
The doctor’s expression didn’t change. But I saw the flicker of it—surprise, then something else. Maybe relief.
“She’s doing well enough that we’re comfortable releasing her,” he said carefully. “But I’ll need you to complete guardianship paperwork. I’ll call down to Legal. It’ll take a few minutes.”
“Do it,” Matteo said.
I looked back at the baby.
Her breathing was steady.
Her fingers twitched in a sleep reflex.
She didn’t know. She didn’t know she’d been left behind. She didn’t know her mother hadn’t even looked at her.
But I knew.
And Matteo?
He already looked like a man willing to kill for her.
I stayed beside the bassinet until the nurse came in to prep the baby for discharge—unhooking the remaining monitors and quietly explaining what each step meant. Matteo excused himself to handle the legal paperwork, and I suddenly felt like a fraud standing there without a clue what I was doing and realized we were not about to take this baby home naked.
So I did the only thing I could do.
I ran.
Straight down the corridor, through two elevator banks, and into the hospital’s main lobby, following signs toward the gift shop like they were lifelines.
It was bigger than I expected—almost like a boutique department store carved out of hospital tile and fluorescent lights. One wall was stacked with magazines, snacks, puzzle books. The next was filled with scented candles, soft throws, silk scarves for chemo patients, trinket jewelry. Then came the corner for new mothers. Pink and blue balloons bobbing overhead. Stuffed animals tucked between diaper cakes and teddy bears holding baby bottles. And just beyond that—a single round rack with a few baby outfits spinning slowly under a ceiling vent.
I prayed it wasn’t all 3–6 month sizes.
My fingers flew through the hangers. Dinosaurs. Trucks. Polka dots. Princess slogans. Unicorns. And finally—white cotton, soft and simple, with a tiny pink tutu sewn around the waist.
It was perfect.
I grabbed it without hesitation, added a pair of thick little socks with rubber grips on the soles—not that she’d be walking any time soon—and a pink cotton hat with a giant satin bow that made me smile even as I blinked back unexpected tears.
It wasn’t much.
But it was something.
By the time I made it back to the NICU, the nurse was lowering her into a car seat carrier lined with fresh padding. She looked even smaller now, swallowed up by the straps and cushioned sides, but her eyes fluttered like she could feel the change coming.
Carrol was there too—pulling the last few stitches in the pale pink crochet blanket she’d started days ago. I froze watching her.
She folded the blanket with care and tucked it gently over the baby’s legs.
“I figured she’d need something of her own,” Carrol murmured, smoothing the yarn as if it were silk. “She’s going to be chilly outside.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, throat thick.
I knelt beside the carrier and carefully slid the onesie over the baby’s head, guiding her arms through the sleeves like she was made of glass. The tutu looked ridiculous. Adorable. Completely impractical.
Perfect.
I rolled the socks over her feet, then adjusted the little pink hat until the bow sat just right.
Just as I was fastening the last strap, I heard the door open—and turned to see Matteo walking back in, a manila folder in one hand and something unreadable in his eyes.
He took one look at the baby… and stopped in his tracks.
The sight of her—in a pink tutu and bow, wrapped in a hand-crocheted blanket, nestled in a car seat like she’d always been his—shook something in him.
He reached down and touched her cheek with the back of his knuckles and whispered, “Ready to go meet your grandma, Lucy?”