One of the girls started to cry, a thin, furious wail.
I reached for her bassinet, and my stomach screamed.
“Let me,” the nurse said gently.
He’d walked out.
I hated how badly I wanted to say no.
I said, “Thank you,” instead, and watched a stranger settle my daughter against my chest.
Then I called my mother.
“Hi, sweetheart! Are they here? Are they…”
I called my mother.
“Mom.” I’d planned to sound calm. I’d practiced it. “Andrew left. He got a call from his mother and he left, and he won’t pick up, and I can’t…”
My voice broke clean in half.
“I’m coming,” my mother said. “Don’t move. I’m getting my coat.”
“Andrew left.”
She arrived in 20 minutes, her hair half pinned.
She’d barely kissed the girls when the door swung open again.
My mother-in-law walked in. She wore her good pearls and carried a large envelope under her arm.