I had promised him there would be other firsts.
I hadn’t imagined we’d have to fight so hard for this one.
Daniel brought water.
I couldn’t drink it.
I fed the girls.
Changed their diapers.
Watched their tiny fingers curl around mine.
Their father was alive.
I should have been celebrating.
Instead, I kept looking at my phone.
By evening, Daniel said Jeremy had arrived.
I followed him down a hallway that smelled of disinfectant.
Outside room 12, Daniel stopped.
“He’s scared.”
“So am I.”
He knocked and stepped inside.
I waited with the stroller.
Then I heard Jeremy’s voice.
“I told you not to bring her.”
My chest tightened.
“I just needed another week.”
Another week.
After nine months.
I pushed the door open.
Jeremy turned.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Daniel quietly stepped out, leaving us alone.
