Of course.
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Would you really want another child?
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I watched the photo for a long time.
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No, Daniel. I loved your father, but I didn’t want to be a mother anymore. I went to the consultation because he was pushing. If he didn’t die, I should have told him what I wanted.
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Daniel remained silent.
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“I think sometimes I’ve confused love with the obligation not to disappoint him,” I added.
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The next day I was operated on.
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The intervention took several hours. Surgeons removed the formation, which had reached impressive dimensions.
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When I woke up in intensive care, the first face I saw was Daniel’s.
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“Mom, the surgery is over. Doctors say you’ve been through it well.
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I tried to smile.
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And the belly?
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It’s not like it anymore.
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He laughed slightly, but his eyes were red.
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The result of the pathological examination came a few days later.
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The formation was benign.
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When the doctor told us the news, Daniel covered his face with his palms.
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I hadn’t seen him cry like that since his father’s funeral.
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The recovery was slow. I needed help to walk, for dressing and for activities that I used to do alone.
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But my children organized without asking them.
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Daniel was coming in the morning, my eldest daughter was preparing my food, and the other son was in charge of shopping and the trips to the doctor.
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One Sunday, after almost two months, we all gathered at my house.
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The grandchildren were running through the yard, the great-grandchildren were arguing on a ball, and Sorina brought a big tray with apple pie.
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Daniel sat next to me.
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Do you know what scared me the most, Mom?
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At 80, my belly had grown so much that doctors were left shocked
