By the time I reached the maternity floor, I was crying so hard I could barely speak.
“I want my baby back.”
The social worker stood up from her desk.
Michael arrived several seconds later.
“Emily, stop. You’re making an emotional decision.”
I turned toward him.
“No. I made an emotional decision when I signed those papers because I was terrified.”
The hallway went silent.
Then I asked the question I had been afraid to say out loud.
“Do you even want him?”
Michael looked at me.
Finally, he answered.
“I don’t want this kind of life.”
Those words ended something inside me.
But it wasn’t my love for my son.
It was my marriage.
I went into the nursery.
The nurse placed my baby in my arms.
He was sleeping, his tiny face pressed against my chest.
I kissed his forehead.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Mommy came back.”
