Delia laughed lightly. "Looking for James? Oh, Linda, you really don't need to keep such close tabs on him. I just felt a little unwell, so he accompanied me to the hospital. That's all."
"Is this really necessary?" James's voice dripped with impatience. "Following me around like this? You're pregnant—you shouldn't be running around hospitals for no reason. Don't you know that's bad for the baby?"
His lip curled. "That child must have terrible luck to end up in your womb."
"Didn't I tell you? Our child was perfectly healthy. A genius, even—got into a top university at sixteen."
Yes. In his version of things, in that past life he claimed to remember, we had a brilliant, healthy child.
So why had it turned out like this?
I clutched the small box tighter against my chest.
I'd heard that children who die before their time become trapped in the cycle of rebirth, unable to find peace.
So I'd ordered this box specially made—carved with lotus flowers—and arranged for a monk to chant sutras for forty-nine days.
I hoped he would have another chance. That in his next life, he would find parents who truly loved him.
"Daddy."