I left it set up for display, posed for guests, but we kept the plain old bassinet beside the bed. When friends asked, I joked I was “taking it slow” decorating. When my mom begged for pictures of the baby in the crib, I sent ones with the crib in the background — never Isla lying in it.
Two weeks after our daughter was born, Grant noticed.
I kept my tone casual. “We just haven’t needed it yet.”
Grant frowned. “You’re being weird. Your mom and Tessa spent a fortune on it.”
I smiled, took Isla from him, settled her in the bassinet.
“Then go ahead,” I murmured. “Try it.”
He blinked. “Try what?”
“Put her in the crib,” I repeated lightly. “Just for a minute.”
He hesitated but walked into the nursery. He lowered Isla toward the mattress.
The second she touched it, there was a faint, almost invisible click.
Grant froze.
“What the—” he whispered, jerking Isla back up.
I stepped to the doorway, my smile gone.
“You feel it now,” I said quietly.
He stared at the crib like it had just breathed. His voice trembled.
“There’s something under the mattress. Something solid.”
