It all started one sunny April morning, whenNeal was standing in the microscopic kitchen of his and Annie’sapartment, waiting for his coffee water to boil. Only a few minutesearlier, he had picked up baby Natasha from her crib and carriedher into the kitchen. If it had been up to Neal, he would have beenjust as happy to let the infant stay where she was and continue tosleep. Annie had an obsessive fear of crib death and insisted thatNatasha be watched at all times. She had gone across the street tobuy some formula at the supermarket, but she did not leave untilshe personally witnessed Neal picking up the baby.

He was standing near the stove, the babycradled in his left arm, staring absently at the little bubblesthat start to swirl and dance when water is close to its boilingpoint.

Natasha made some small movement that caughthis attention.

Neal glanced down at her face. Her darkbrown, reptilian-looking eyes opened suddenly. In fact, they almostsnapped open—this was the only way Neal could describe itlater.

The baby stared at Neal with an eerie,almost angry expression, one that he had not witnessed before.

Then, without any hesitation whatsoever, shespoke.

It was as if she had been formulating theshort but shocking sentence for some time and had merely beenwaiting for exactly the right moment to deliver it—a moment inwhich her young, inexperienced father was still half-asleep.

“I looooove youuuuuuu,” the infant said.

Neal was so taken aback that he almost losthis balance, as well as his grip on his daughter. Staring at herlittle face with a combination of fear and disbelief, his firstimpulse was to get the hell away from her. He half-set andhalf-dropped the child on the counter, then backed up against thekitchen wall, shivering.