Picture Perfect. Kate Forster

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      Table of Contents

       Cover

       About the Author

       Title Page

      Prologue

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       Chapter 21

       Chapter 22

       Chapter 23

       Chapter 24

       Chapter 25

       Chapter 26

       Chapter 27

       Chapter 28

       Chapter 29

       Chapter 30

       Chapter 31

       Chapter 32

       Chapter 33

       Chapter 34

       Chapter 35

       Chapter 36

       Chapter 37

       Chapter 38

       Chapter 39

       Chapter 40

       Chapter 41

       Chapter 42

       Chapter 43

       Chapter 44

       Epilogue

       Copyright

       Prologue

       Los Angeles 11 May, 1996

      The girl shivered and hugged her new baby closer to her chest. It had been a restless night in the hospital room, her friend shifting uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair, while the baby snuffled into her chest, trying to find the source of the scent of milk.

      She felt sick, but she wanted it finished. Every second she was with the baby was another second that might change her mind.

      Her friend sat watching her, her slim legs in skintight jeans, chewing gum and sipping from the can of Mountain Dew she’d bought from the vending machine down the hall. She was swinging one foot, a habit that her friend knew came from nerves, not restlessness.

      ‘She’s gonna have a real nice life,’ her friend said for the millionth time.

      ‘I know,’ she answered numbly.

      ‘Better than anything we ever had.’

      The baby stirred and she shifted her up onto her shoulder, and she felt her breasts ache. She was bottle-feeding, as they had all agreed, but her body yearned for the feel of her baby on her skin.

      Her milk was coming in, the nurses had told her this morning, as the baby rubbed her little face against the bare skin on her neck.

      Skin hungry, she thought, her tired mind recalling what she’d read about babies trying to bond with their mothers.

      Is this what love feels like? she wondered, and then she felt the let-down of her milk, soaking her one good T-shirt.

      ‘Goddammit,’ she said and stood up from the bed. ‘Take her, I have to dry this,’ and she handed over the warm bundle.

      Her friend took the baby with the confidence of someone who had grown up around younger children.

      ‘Hush now, little one,’ she said to the babe, and started singing about Jesus.

      All her friend’s songs were about Jesus, thought the girl as she went into the bathroom and plugged in the hairdryer from the cupboard under the sink. This was a real nice hospital, with fancy toiletries and hairdryers in each room. Better than the apartment she shared with her friend. She waved the hot air over her milk-stained T-shirt. She saw the milk had left a shadow of two eyes on her front.