Open Heart

Of Mail and Mobiles

Disclaimer: I own no one!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Groaning, Trish pulled the box off the stoop. What had Randy bought this time? What piece of meaningless baby equipment was it this time? Did he realize how much seeing this stuff killed her?

"Randall, I'm going to kill you!" she called, struggling up the stairs with the box. "What did you buy this time?" She heard him, in the nursery/computer room.

The floorboards creaked under her weight. The house was old, but in good condition. There was no chance of the floor giving out.

"Is that from Amazon?" Randy asked, glancing up from the computer screen. Trish nodded. "Great! It was late," Trish sighed. She hated to admit it, but she was losing faith in the adoption process.

The day they found out Trish couldn't get pregnant was the worst day of their lives. All they wanted was a baby. That wasn't asking too much. A child would have made them complete. They had waiting for a birthmother now for close to a year. Everyone told them it could be five years before they were chosen. Neither wanted to wait that long.

"Open it!" Randy exclaimed, typing. Rolling her eyes, Trish opened the box with tape crinkling and straining. As the box opened with a loud snap, Trish removed a crib mobile.

"My home team!" he exclaimed. "Wind it!" Rolling her eyes, she wound the mobile.

Softly, Take me Out to the Ballgame began to play. Tears filled Trish's eyes. She wanted that sound to comfort a baby to sleep. She wanted a baby! Why did it seem as if God was punishing her?

She noticed Randy go dead silent, which was very uncommon. Her husband never went silent. What was it? What happened?

"Read this, and don't get your hopes up," he murmured. Squatting beside him, she squinted, trying to read the message.

I am looking for a family for my baby girl. Your letter caught my eye. I can't help but feel connected. I also know that you're the right family for her.

I am twenty-nine weeks along. The doctors tell me she is the perfect size, and is growing normally. I am thirty-two years old, in perfect health. I don't drink. I don't smoke, and I don't do drugs.

I got out of an abusive relationship. Then, I discovered I was pregnant. I am not ready for this, since my boyfriend left me emotionally scarred. I feel as if I cannot adequately care for my baby.

Trish began to shake violently. Was this a joke? Was someone playing a cruel joke? This was the first message they had ever gotten. Were their dreams coming true?

"Relax," Randy murmured, picking up her hand. She could see he was as shaken as she was. "We can't get our hopes up. We just can't."

"This might be our Cassia," she murmured. Randy placed his finger to her lips, shaking his head.

"Not until she's in our arms. If we use a name, this baby becomes real, and if something happens, we'll never get over it," he murmured, almost inaudibly. She nodded.

Since before their wedding day, they had had names chosen. Cassia Lynn for a girl and Liam Michael for a boy, Trish guarded those names as if they were her own. When she discussed names with her pregnant friends, she never mentioned them.

Those names were almost sacred.

The mobile music stopped suddenly. Biting her lips, Trish crumbled to the floors. Tears spilled from her eyes. Bill, their Great Dane puppy scampered in. Draping himself over his mistress' lap, he seemed to sense what she was feeling.

"Trisha, don't cry," Randy murmured, struggling to hold back his own tears. "Our time might have come,"

"I hope so, I hope so,"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX