The white crib my parents bought us.
The wooden letters spelling our son’s name above the changing table.
He had sent the picture to her.
His message underneath it said:
My whole house looks like a baby store now.
She replied:
Poor you. I’ll help you forget about diapers next time.
I dropped the phone.
It hit the kitchen floor.
The sound brought me back into my body.
My heart was pounding so hard that my chest hurt.
My hands went immediately to my stomach.
Our son moved.
One small kick.
Then another.
I remember whispering, “It’s okay.”
I don’t know whether I was speaking to him or myself.
Maybe both.
The shower was still running upstairs.
Daniel was humming.
Humming.
While I stood downstairs looking at proof that the life I believed I had did not exist.
I picked up the phone again.
I took photographs of what I had found.
