The Baby at the Altar: A Wedding Day Twist
The morning of my wedding felt like something out of a dream. Soft sunlight streamed through the windows as I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the lace on my gown. My eyeliner was perfect, my heart full. I whispered, “Not bad, Claire,” and smiled at my reflection.
Then the doorbell rang.
It was early—7 a.m. I assumed it was Tessa, my maid of honor, probably overly excited and showing up ahead of schedule. Still smiling, I padded downstairs barefoot, ready to tease her for being early.
But when I opened the door, my breath caught.
No Tessa.
Instead, a baby carrier sat on the doorstep. Inside, wrapped in a pink blanket, was a baby. A note was pinned to her chest.
“The baby is Nate’s now. Ask him yourself.”
My heart skipped. My hands shook as I read the note again. I looked closer at the baby—bright blue eyes, soft brown curls—eyes that felt eerily familiar. Nate’s eyes.
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