Ask about cord compression.
Hospital bag checklist.
Then the lists turned into letters.
Dear Grace,
Today you kicked so hard I spilled tea on my shirt. Your father said you’re already dramatic. I think you’re strong.
Dear Lily,
You are the quiet one on the monitor, but I know you’re listening. I can feel you move when I sing.
Dear Hope,
Your sisters always start the party first. You wait. Maybe you’ll be thoughtful. Maybe you’ll surprise us all.
Mark sat down heavily in the rocking chair.
There were no letters from him.
No notes in his handwriting.
No little messages to daughters who had arrived while he cut cake with a woman from his past.
He turned another page.
The handwriting changed slightly near the end, less tidy, more hurried.
If something happens and Mark isn’t here, I need someone to know: I tried. I tried to keep asking. I tried to explain that I was scared. I tried to make him understand that being alone in a marriage is sometimes worse than being alone outside one.
