“Hope required more intervention. She was without strong oxygen flow longer than her sisters. She has been monitored closely.”
“Hope,” Mark repeated.
His voice cracked around the name.
Emily had named them without him.
Of course she had.
She had carried them while he complained about the cost of renovations. She had learned the difference between contractions and panic while he took business calls in parking lots. She had slept upright in a recliner for weeks while he slept in their bed because he “needed to function.”
Grace. Lily. Hope.
Three daughters.
The room blurred.
“She’s alive?” he whispered.
Dr. Patel nodded once. “She is alive.”
Air rushed out of him so hard he bent forward.
For a few seconds, Mark forgot pride. He forgot explanations. He forgot the story he had planned to tell Emily, the reasonable tone he had expected to use, the old pattern where she cried and he waited and eventually everything returned to normal.
