Chapter 2 - PrioritiesThen my phone buzzed three times against the blanket.
For one dumb second I thought it might be Derek, texting from the cafeteria to make me smile. It was my mother.
Gender reveal is at 5 tomorrow.
Bring the chocolate mousse cake from Chapman's.
Don't show up empty-handed and useless like last time.
I read it twice because my brain refused to connect those words to the room I was sitting in. My daughter was in a plastic box. A machine was breathing for her. My incision still burned every time I shifted in the chair. Harper was sleeping in a hospital recliner because she was too scared to leave her sister's side.
And my mother wanted a cake.
Before the surgery, I'd actually planned to go to Paige's gender reveal — pick up the dessert, help set the food out, smile for the pictures, keep the day running smoothly for everyone but me. That's the job I'd been handed in this family long before I understood it was a job. Paige got celebrated. My mother directed. My father backed her up. I carried the leftovers.
None of that made any sense under NICU lighting.
My hands were shaking when I typed back. I'm at the hospital with Everly. She's still on the ventilator. I can't come tomorrow.
I stared at the screen after I hit send. Some stubborn part of me still expected her to read the word ventilator and turn into the grandmother Harper believed she was. I expected a phone call. I expected her to ask if the baby was stable, if Derek had eaten, if Harper needed anything.
Her answer came back almost instantly.
Priorities. Show up or stay out of our lives.
Then my father chimed in. Your sister's day is more important than your drama. Don't ruin this for her.
Drama. My newborn was fighting for every breath and he called it drama.
Paige's message landed a second later. Always making everything about yourself.
Three messages, lined up like a family vote against me.
Harper noticed my hand trembling. "Mommy, why are you shaking?"
I flipped the phone face-down. "Just Grandma. Nothing important."
"Is Grandma coming to see Everly?"
That question hurt worse than anything my mother had typed. To Harper, Grandma meant cinnamon cookies and glittery birthday cards and five-dollar bills folded into envelopes. She knew the version of my mother that smiled for photos and remembered which toy she wanted. She had no idea there was another version — the one who made love feel like a bill you were always behind on.
"I don't think so, honey."
"But Everly's sick." Harper's eyes stayed on the incubator. "Doesn't Grandma want to help?"
Nothing true could leave my mouth without hurting her, so I did what I'd always done. I protected my mother's image.
"She's busy helping Aunt Paige."
Harper accepted it, the way kids accept the answer that stings less, and tucked her blanket back around her legs.
A few minutes later I picked the phone back up. My mother had sent another message. My father had added a question mark under his demand. Paige said everyone was stressed and I was making it worse.
I didn't answer any of them.
I opened each name and blocked it, one after another. My mother. My father. My sister. I didn't feel brave doing it. I felt hollowed out, like I'd scraped the last thing out of myself and there was nothing left to hand over.
Derek came back with two coffees and a paper bag from the cafeteria, took one look at my face, then at the phone. "What happened?"
I handed it to him. He read without saying anything, his jaw tightening at my mother's words, tightening again at my father's. When he got to Paige's message he set the phone down carefully, like it might go off.
"You don't have to deal with them tonight."
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"I blocked them."
"Good." He said it flat, no celebration in it. He set one cup on the windowsill and opened the bag, trying to talk me into half a sandwich. I got down two bites.
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