Miranda Berenzweig, the new online food editor for
Domestic
Goddess, is about to have her life drastically changed.
Her long time
friends Courtney, Bea and Lauren are very close-knit and
have each
other's backs at all times. Living in Brooklyn keeps
Miranda's life fast-
paced and helps her with the recent breakup of her
boyfriend Luke. Now
she is due to meet a blind date after signing up with
eHarmony. Miranda
falls asleep on the subway and ends at the end of the line
all alone. She
is amazed at finding a bundle containing a newborn black
baby girl. What
are the chances of this happening?
Believing this baby is meant for her, the judge helps in
aiding her to
become licensed and approved as a temporary foster home
with the
intent to adopt. "Celeste" being black does give Miranda
some concern
at the infant being raised by a white woman, but still
believes it was fate.
Instantly in love with Celeste, she begins adoption and is
granted
approval until a reporter, Geneva Bales, writes an article
surrounding
Miranda's miraculous find and intent to adopt. Her new
friend Evan
Zuckerbrot is completely enthralled by the infant as well.
Jared Masters
follows up on the infant after seeing the article, proving
he is the
biological father, and the mother, a white woman, is dead.
Miranda
denies her instant attraction to Celeste's black father
and now fears that
she will lose her little miracle that she believes to be
her destiny. Secrets
begin to surface with a little research and history is
uncovered concerning
the infant's mother. If this infant is meant to be hers,
why is she losing
Celeste to Jared and how will she carry on with her loss?
YOU WERE MEANT FOR ME is a beautiful and heartfelt story
of a woman falling in love with an
abandoned newborn and unable to give her up. The
individual characters
are captivating and the tale is filled with emotions and
all consuming love
for an infant. I found it extremely difficult to put this
book down until I had
arrived at the conclusion. Yona Zeldis McDonough has a
way of reaching deep into the
soul and portraying the astounding love felt for a child.
Yona Zeldis McDonough
is an amazing author with amazing insight into the soul of
her characters.
What do you do when you have to give up the person you
love
most?
Thirty-five-year-old Miranda is not an impulsive person.
She’s been at Domestic Goddess magazine for eight years,
she
has great friends, and she’s finally moving on after a
breakup. Having a baby isn’t even on her radar—until the
day
she discovers an abandoned newborn on the platform of a
Brooklyn subway station. Rushing the little girl to the
closest police station, Miranda hopes and prays she’ll be
all right and that a loving family will step forward to
take
her.
Yet Miranda can’t seem to get the baby off her mind and
keeps coming up with excuses to go check on her, until
finally a family court judge asks whether she’d like to
be
the baby’s foster parent—maybe even adopt her. To her own
surprise, Miranda jumps at the chance. But nothing could
have prepared her for the ecstasy of new-mother love—or
the
heartbreak she faces when the baby’s father surfaces....
CONVERSATION GUIDE INCLUDED
Excerpt
The rocking of the train was making her sleepy; Miranda
Berenzweig rested her head against the wall and closed
her eyes. Just for a minute, she thought. Just one little
minute. When she opened her eyes, she was still sitting
in the subway car, entirely alone and freezing. She
leaped up in a panic. Clearly, she had slept right past
her stop, and several stops after that; she’d come to the
end of the line. The doors were open and the platform was
elevated; that’s why she was so cold. But where was she?
Coney Island–Stillwell Avenue, that’s where—at least
according to the sign.
Well, she’d just have to get a train going back; she
could forget about finding a cab out here.
Miranda stepped onto the platform. Even from up here, she
could smell the sharp, salt-laced wind coming from the
ocean. It was a good smell, actually—clean and bracing.
But she had to get home. She felt nervous being out so
late by herself, a feeling that intensified when she went
down the stairs. There were no longer any token booths;
she could see the phantom spot where the booth had been,
its ghostly perimeter still outlined on the floor, like
something from a crime scene. There was not a soul in the
station, and she was just about to sprint up the stairs
to the other side when her attention was snagged by a
neat, cream-colored bundle that sat right by the
banister.
She paused. It looked harmless enough—a folded blanket or
something—but in the post-9/11 world, she had to wonder.
Could a bomb be concealed in those folds? How would she
know, anyway? Did she even have a clue as to what a bomb
looked like? While she was debating this, she saw
something else even more startling: a tiny foot peeking
out from one corner of the blanket. It flitted through
her mind that this was the second bare foot she’d seen
tonight. Only this one belonged to a doll.
A doll. Not too likely there was a bomb in there. Miranda
could see the little toes, all five of them, lined up
like tiny brown nuts. What a well-made thing. Clean too.
Why would someone have thrown it away? Then the foot
moved. Miranda stopped, not sure she saw what she thought
she saw. She was exhausted, disoriented, and possibly a
little drunk. The foot was an exquisite creation, crafted
from something so smooth and pliant that she could not
guess what it might have been. But when it moved again—
this time causing the blanket on top to stir ever so
slightly—she knew that it was no mere simulation. The
cold she had been feeling ever since she woke up seemed
to gather speed and force; it shot right through her,
like a bullet. Carefully, she lifted a corner of the
blanket away.
There, wrapped in a surprisingly clean white towel and
cushioned by the bottom part of the blanket, was an
infant. No, not an infant, a newborn, with cocoa-colored
skin, black hair plastered to its tiny skull, and eyes
that were tightly shut against the harsh light of the
subway station. Oh. My. God. Was it even alive? Should
she touch it? She remained that way for several seconds
until the infant opened its mouth in a yawn that seemed
to devour its entire face. The eyelids fluttered briefly
before closing again. Definitely alive!
The yawn propelled Miranda into action. She lifted up the
tiny creature. Under the towel the infant was naked; the
umbilical cord, tied in a crude, red knot, looked as if
it had been sawed off, and there were reddish streaks on
her body. Was the umbilical cord infected, or was it
supposed to be that way? She had no idea but wished she
had some antibiotic ointment. Avoiding the red
protuberance, Miranda shifted the baby gingerly in her
arms. Around one wrist was a bracelet; the small pink
glass beads were interspersed with white ones whose black
letters spelled out BABY GIRL. Someone had cared enough
to place that bracelet on her wrist; was it the same
person who left her here in the station? Miranda wrapped
the blanket around the infant’s body. But that didn’t
seem sufficient, so she opened her coat and positioned
her close to her own body. That ought to keep her warm.
Or at least warmer.
The station was still empty. What should she do? There
was an app on her phone that would help her locate a
police station. But she did not want to be walking around
here in this strange neighborhood by herself. No, she’d
rather head for the station house back in Park Slope. She
waited downstairs for the train; it would be warmer than
the windy platform. When she heard it arriving, she
hurried up the stairs and got in as soon as the doors
parted.
As the train chugged along, it occurred to her that the
infant might be hungry or thirsty. Hungry she could not
fix. But she had a bottle of water in her bag; also hand
sanitizer, which she wished she had thought to use
earlier. Damn! Gripping the tiny body under one arm, she
managed to squirt the green gel over both hands and rub
furiously. Then she wet her fingers with the water and
held them to the infant’s lips. She opened her mouth and
began to suck. Tears welled in Miranda’s eyes. She was
thirsty, poor little thing. Naked, abandoned in a subway
station, and thirsty too—the final and crowning indignity
in a brand-new life that so far seemed comprised of
nothing but.
When they reached their stop, Miranda made her way
through the dark streets toward the police station. At
least the rain had tapered off. Against her body, the
infant felt warm and animate. Miranda was keenly aware of
her breath, in and out, in and out. The rhythm calmed
her.
Yanking open the heavy doors to the station house, she
stepped inside. A bored-looking officer behind a bullet-
proof shield was leafing through a copy of the New York
Post; two other officers, one pale and seemingly squeezed
into a uniform that was a size or two too small, the
other brown as the baby Miranda held close to her heart,
were chatting in low voices. Above, the fluorescent light
buzzed like a frantic insect. The cop reading the paper
finally glanced up. He looked not at Miranda, but
straight through her. “Can I help you?” he said in a tone
that suggested he would sooner endure a colonoscopy, a
root canal, and a tax audit—simultaneously.
“Look,” she said urgently, opening her coat to reveal the
infant in its makeshift swaddling. “Look what I just
found!”
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