“Mom.”
She turned to him.
“You do not need to defend me from Elena.”
“I am not.”
“Good.”
She put the napkin beside the tray.
“Then let us keep this simple.”
That was when I understood how she intended to make it difficult. Not by shouting. By making refusal sound impolite.
A volunteer came through the lounge carrying clean blankets. Vivian moved the tray closer to the wall to give her room.
“Do you know,” Vivian said, “the family has been waiting a long time for this?”
I looked at her.
“For what?”
She touched the basket.
“For Leo.”
Daniel’s head lifted.
“Both babies, Mom.”
“Of course. Both.”
She said it quickly enough that the correction stayed hanging between us.
At 3:10, we stood near the elevators. My admission bracelet was loose enough that I
could turn it around my wrist. I checked the printed date and then checked it again.
Vivian asked Daniel to walk a few steps away.
He followed her.
I watched their mouths move without hearing the words. Vivian kept one hand on the strap of her purse. Daniel looked toward me once, then back at her.
The elevator doors opened.
A family came out with an older man in a wheelchair, and I stepped aside.
When Daniel returned, he stopped beside me.
“What did she want?”
“She wants everyone calm.”
“That is not what I asked.”
He looked down at my bracelet.
“I know.”
“Then tell me.”
He rubbed his wedding ring with his thumb.
“She thinks we are making this more complicated than it needs to be.”
“Who is we?”
He did not answer.
The elevator bell sounded again.
I stepped inside. “Daniel.”
He followed.
“She thinks the papers
are reasonable,” he said.
“What papers?”
He looked at the floor numbers.
“The ones she brought.”
The doors opened on our floor before I could ask anything else.
Our hospital room had two chairs, a narrow table, and a plastic cup with my name printed on a label. Daniel set the bag down and closed the door.
I moved the gift basket onto the counter.
