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to hold his son at all.
    Outside the window, a wave crashed against the rocks. Derrick rose to his feet and looked around him. Determination filled him as he realized his son gave his life new meaning and purpose. He would fight for Ryan, and he wouldn’t stop fighting until he had half custody of his son.

 
     
    Chapter Four
     
     
    It was noon the next day by the time Jill staggered out of her bedroom and into the family room.
    “You’re alive,” Sandy said.
    “Barely.”
    “Ryan kept you awake, huh?”
    “Understatement of the year,” Jill said, dropping into the chair across from the couch where Sandy sat. “What have I done?”
    “Taking care of a new baby is difficult in the beginning, but things will get better…easier.”
    Jill shook her head. “You don’t understand. I don’t think Ryan likes me.”
    “Of course he likes you,” Sandy said with a smile. “Having a new baby just takes getting used to.”
    Jill blew pieces of straggly hair out of her eyes. “I need coffee.”
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea while you’re breastfeeding.”
    “I’m not breastfeeding anymore.”
    “Since when?”
    “Sometime in the middle of the night. And now Ryan is sleeping. He hates me.” Jill dropped her face into the palms of her hands.
    Sandy came to Jill’s side and patted her shoulder. “Oh, honey, he doesn’t hate you. Everything will be okay. I’ll make you some hot tea and scrambled eggs,” Sandy said as she headed for the kitchen.
    “I never feel this way,” Jill said. “I feel so tired…and depressed. I’ve felt like crying ever since Ryan was born. What’s wrong with me?”
    “He’s four days old. Give it some time.”
    Jill could see her reflection in the window. Who was that woman looking back at her? What happened to Jill Garrison, the girl most likely to succeed in high school? What happened to the young vibrant woman who had boys flocking to be her escort at the cotillion in New York City?
    Jill stood and curtsied. It was no use. At the ripe old age of twenty-eight she was all washed up.
    “Are you okay?” Sandy asked when she peeked out from the kitchen at Jill.
    Jill flopped back into her favorite chair. “I’m fine. Just fine.”
    “Hormonal changes, a little postpartum depression, that’s what you have,” Sandy assured her. “Nothing’s wrong with you. After you eat, you’re going to take a shower. You’ll feel like a new woman in no time.”
    Jill’s cell phone rang, but before she could answer it, the crying in the other room told her that her time was up. Ignoring the cell phone, she headed for the bedroom.
    “It will get better,” Sandy called out. “I promise.”
    Jill didn’t believe her. Sandy was just trying to comfort her. If Ryan would just let her sleep for thirty minutes straight, she was certain she could do this.
    Just thirty minutes and everything would be fine.
    Three hours later, after eating an egg and multi-tasking with a brisk walk around the park while returning phone calls, Jill felt mildly better. At least her hair was clean and she’d managed to brush and floss before Ryan started to cry again. Her baby had a set of lungs that no doubt came from his father’s side of the family.
    Growing up had been a quiet experience because nobody in Jill’s family talked or interacted. On most days you could hear a pin drop. She and her sister were taught to keep their voices and emotions in check at all times. Children were meant to be seen, not heard. If she and her sister were caught being overly rambunctious, or laughing too loud, an uncommon occurrence, they were given ten minutes on the wooden chair.
    Jill hovered over the crib for a moment and watched Ryan cry. What had her parents done when she cried as a baby? She had read many books on becoming a new mother. It scared her that she didn’t feel the instant bond the nurses at the hospital told her most mothers shared with their newborn babies. She didn’t feel a connection, but