She recoiled from him like he had struck her.
I looked at my sister: the shaking hands, the wild eyes. The way her chest was rising too fast. The panic pouring off her like heat.
And all at once, something awful became clear.
To save my sister, I would have to make her worst fear come true.
“We’re worried about you.”
I started sobbing.
“Carol, I love you,” I whispered. “And I’m so sorry to do this to you, but I can’t hand over the baby until you get help.”
Her nostrils flared. The sound that came out of her barely sounded human.
“No.”
“Carol—”
“NO! You promised to carry my son for me. He’s MINE! Mine! You can’t keep him.”
“I can’t hand over the baby.”
Two nurses rushed in. Rob put both hands over his mouth. Paul stood beside my bed like a wall.
“You can’t do this to me,” Carol screamed. “You can’t take him away from me.”
“I’m not taking him away.”
“You are! You are!”
Her breathing got faster and faster. She looked around the room like everyone in it had betrayed her.
“You all think I’m crazy.”
“No,” I said through tears. “I think you’re hurting.”
“You can’t take him away from me.”
That broke something in her. She collapsed into a chair and started crying with this deep, broken sound I will hear for the rest of my life.
“I just wanted to be his mother,” she said.
Rob was crying too by then. Quiet tears, helpless ones.
A hospital social worker arrived not long after. Then security stayed nearby. Then more questions came. Everything slowed down into paperwork and soft voices and careful phrases.
Nobody yelled anymore.
