“Hi.”
His tiny fingers opened and closed against my skin.
“Hi, Noah.”
Daniel stood beside the bed crying harder than I was.
He touched one finger to Noah’s foot.
Then he looked at me.
There was so much in his face.
Love.
Shame.
Gratitude.
Fear.
I didn’t know what to do with any of it.
So I looked back at my son.
For one hour, maybe two, the rest of my life disappeared.
I was simply Noah’s mother.
And that was enough.
My parents arrived later that afternoon.
Mom practically floated into the room.
Dad followed carrying flowers and looking as though he had aged five years in two months.
He stood near the bassinet.
Noah yawned.
Dad’s eyes filled instantly.
“That’s my grandson?”
I smiled for the first time that day.
“Unless the hospital made a very serious administrative error.”
Mom laughed.
Dad barely did.
