Chapter 42: Quincy

I hum and run a finger over Chance's eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose. He finished his bottle a while ago and has been asleep ever since, but I can't muster the desire to put him down for the night.

I think about how much he's changed in the last nine months since I got custody of him. He's longer and not nearly as chunky as he used to be. All the crawling and pulling up is quickly burning off his baby rolls. His facial features are more distinct. He still bears a striking resemblance to my dad's baby pictures, but Chance looks more like, well, himself.

His pouty lips move in a suckling motion, like he's dreaming of his bottle. It always warms my heart when he does it. It's a sign a baby feels safe, loved, and content.

Lucky him. All I feel is terror.

Tomorrow we go before a judge, who will decide where Chance will live for the next seventeen years of his life. A judge who will determine if the man who didn't care enough to acknowledge his own child can now parent that child a