Chapter 1 - The Phone Call
Doctors W:arned a 4th Baby Could Harm Me — Then My Husband Called Me to a Maternity Ward and Asked a Question I Never Saw Coming
Daniel called me on a Tuesday afternoon, a little after two.
"I need you to come. There's a baby here."
I stopped wiping the counter. "Daniel, whose baby?"
"Please. Just come."
Some sentences change the temperature of a whole room in a single breath. That was one of them.
I checked the clock on the stove. 2:27. Our youngest wouldn't be out of preschool for another hour. The two older boys were still in class across town.
"Which hospital?"
He told me — St. Anselm Regional, off Delaney Avenue.
"Why are you there?"
"I'll explain when you come."
"Daniel."
"Please."
He didn't sound like himself. Not guilty, exactly. Not scared, exactly. Something wedged in between the two.
I drove over in the same faded shirt I'd been scrubbing the kitchen in, hair clipped up, no idea what I was walking into.
You have to understand what the word baby does in our house.
May you like
We have three boys. Nine, seven, and four. Loud, filthy, wonderful boys. Our home runs on muddy sneakers, plastic dinosaurs, and daily negotiations over who gets to sit closest to the TV. I love them past the edge of reason.
But we had wanted a daughter too. God, we had wanted one.
