😱Greenwich Wife Finds a Three Month Old Infant in Her Foyer

 

The blue velvet bassinet sat directly on the Persian rug in the foyer, right where the delivery men usually left the dry cleaning.

Eleanor Sterling stood over it, her fingers laced through her heavy double strand of pearls as she rocked the handle with one foot. The scent of the floor wax we imported from England lingered in the drafty hall, mixing with the sharp, clean smell of new cotton.

“He arrived twenty minutes after you left for the clinic, darling,” Eleanor said, her voice carrying that sweet, practiced lilt she used for charity board meetings.

I set my handbag on the console table, my hand instinctively smoothing the wool of my grey skirt. My medical exam had taken three hours, another round of blood work and ultrasounds to tell us what we already knew.

“Who brought him here, Eleanor?” I asked.

“A social worker, of course,” she said, adjusting her pearls. “A very pleasant woman from the agency.”

I bent over the bassinet, pulling back the edge of the blue blanket. The infant was awake, staring up with dark, unfocused eyes, his tiny hands tucked beneath his chin. My breath caught as I looked at the shape of his jaw, the tiny cleft in the center of his chin that was identical to the one in the portrait of Aleric’s grandfather hanging in the library.

“He needs his rest,” Eleanor said, stepping between me and the bassinet.

The question of whose child this really was began to form, heavy and cold, in the quiet of the foyer.

Aleric’s voice drifted from the living room, sharp and impatient, before he appeared in the archway. He was still in his charcoal suit, his phone pressed to his ear, his fingers drumming against his thigh.

“I will call you back from the office tomorrow,” Aleric said into the receiver, then ended the call without waiting for a reply.

He slipped the phone into his breast pocket and looked at me, his face devoid of any warmth. Estelle Miller, our head housekeeper, stood a few paces behind him, her hands clasped tightly over her white apron.

“You are late, Saraphina,” Aleric said, checking his gold wristwatch.

Author

 

  • Andrew Collins is a contributor who enjoys writing about everyday topics, people, and ideas that spark curiosity. His approach is simple and conversational, aiming to make stories easy to read and relatable. Outside of writing, Andrew follows current trends, enjoys long walks, and likes turning small observations into meaningful stories.

     

 

 

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