Violet fell silent.
“We are allowed to hurt differently,” I said. “But we are not allowed to destroy each other because of it.”
She left.
And for the first time, I stopped feeling guilty for setting a boundary.
Part 6: Cecelia Arrives
Two weeks later, Cecelia was born.
The delivery was quiet and uncomplicated, almost shockingly ordinary after months in which nothing had felt ordinary.
The moment the nurse placed her on my chest, Cecelia curled one tiny hand into a fist and tucked her thumb inside.
I froze.
Mark had slept with his hand exactly like that.
A sob escaped me.
“Of course,” I whispered. “Of course you sleep like your dad.”
For one terrible, beautiful second, I wanted him there so badly that it physically hurt.
When Violet came to the hospital to meet her granddaughter, she stopped beside the bed.
