Daniel shut his eyes and whispered, “Thank God,” with the broken humility of a man who had spent the night bargaining with every version of God he knew.
I sat down before my legs made the decision for me.
The next morning, Laura came back to the hospital.
But this time, Emma stayed outside in the children’s room with a nurse and a box of plastic blocks.
Laura stood in the doorway and looked as though the night had scraped years off her.
Her face was pale and blotched. Her eyes were swollen. There was dried mascara at the corners she hadn’t fully washed off. She looked not unlike Megan had looked three weeks after Noah was born: like a woman who had reached the end of what she could carry and discovered the day still had hours left in it.
“I understand if you never want to see me again,” she said quietly.
Daniel looked at Megan.
Megan did not answer immediately. She sat in the chair beside Noah’s bassinet with one hand on the blanket as if keeping physical contact with him mattered more now than before.
Finally she said, “You should have told us your daughter would be with you.”
Laura nodded at once.
“I know.”
“You should have told us every time there was any chance.”
