Jessica's in my living room, touching Harper's toys, picking up a stuffed elephant, and examining it like she's never seen it before. Her movements are jerky and wrong, too fast and then too slow, her head twitching to the side every few seconds.
And Nora's standing between Jessica and the hallway to the nursery, with Harper clutched tightly against her chest, her face pale but determined. She's backed up against the wall, using her body as a shield, and I can see how hard she's shaking even from here.
"Tyler!" Nora's relief is palpable when she sees me, and I can hear the tears in her voice.
Jessica whirls around, and up close, she looks even worse. Gaunt, her cheekbones too sharp, her skin sallow and covered in faint scabs. Her eyes are dilated so wide there's barely anybrown left, and her black pupils swimming in white. She's lost weight, maybe twenty pounds, and her clothes hang off her frame.
She's high. Obviously, dangerously high.
"There you are," she says, her voice too loud, too fast. "I've been waiting. Where were you? I came to get my baby. That's my baby. She'smine."
I step between her and Nora immediately, putting my body between Jessica and my family. Nora makes a small sound of relief behind me.
"Get away from them," I say, my voice deadly calm even though I'm shaking with rage. "Right now."
"She's my daughter?—"
"You left her on my doorstep when she was two months old. You abandoned her." I take a step forward, forcing Jessica to step back. "You don't get to show up high and demand her back."
"I'm not high?—"
"You're clearly on something. Your pupils are the size of dinner plates, and you can barely stand straight." Another step forward, another step back from her. "Look at yourself, Jessica. You need help. But you're not getting Harper."
Her face twists into something ugly, something desperate. "You can't keep me from my own daughter. I have rights. Biological rights. The courts?—"
"The courts favor stable parents who don't abandon their children." I'm crowding her toward the door now, each word pushing her back. "You gave up your rights when you left her on my porch in a carrier with a note. Remember that? Remember walking away from a two-month-old baby?"
"I was scared?—"
“You were probably high. Like you are right now.”
Behind me, Harper starts crying. Not her normal fussy cry, but a scared cry, picking up on all the tension and fear in the room. I want to turn around, comfort her, but I can't take my eyes offJessica.
"You're upsetting her," Jessica says, but her voice is wrong, detached. "Give her to me. I'll calm her down. I'm her mother."
"No." The word comes out flat, final. "You're not taking her anywhere."
"I'll get a lawyer. The courts favor mothers. Everyone knows that. She'smine, not yours.Imade her. She came frommybody. You're just—" She waves her hand vaguely. "You're just the sperm donor."
The words hit like a physical blow, but I don't let it show.
"I'm the one who's been up with her every night. I'm the one who learned how to make bottles, change diapers, and calm her down when she's crying. I'm the one who takes her to doctor's appointments and plays with her and loves her." My voice is getting louder now, months of fear and frustration pouring out. "You don't get to show up strung out and claim her because of biology. That's not how this works."
"I'll prove you're an unfit parent. You're never home. You're always at practice or games. Who's taking care of her? This girl?" She gestures at Nora with contempt. "Some random nanny you hired? That's notstable. That's not afamily."
"Get out."
"I want my daughter?—"
"I said get out." I pull out my phone. "You're trespassing. You're clearly intoxicated. And you're harassing my family. Want to see how fast the police show up?"
Jessica looks between me and the phone, her eyes darting frantically. Then, over my shoulder, at Nora and Harper. I can see her calculating, trying to figure out her next move.
"You'll hear from my lawyer," she finally says, backing toward the door. "I want her back. She's mine. I carried her for nine months. I gave birth to her. She's mine, and you can't keep her from me. The courts will see that. They'll give her back to me."
"The courts will see that you abandoned your infant daughter and showed up months later, high on God knows what, making threats." I follow her to the door. "Now leave before I call 911."
She stumbles out onto the porch, nearly tripping on the step, and I follow her all the way to her car. The sedan looks even worse up close—rust eating through the paint, one taillight held on with duct tape, the passenger window covered with plastic.