Chapter 6 - Learning Not to Be Afraid
For the first week, none of that mattered as much as keeping Hannah and the baby safe.
She stayed at Mercy General until her electrolytes leveled out and she could keep food down again.
The first full meal she finished was a bowl of chicken noodle soup Mom made at home and carried in.
Hannah looked at that bowl for almost a full minute before she picked up the spoon. Then she started crying.
"I'm scared of food," she whispered.
Mom pulled a chair up and ate out of the same bowl.
"Then we'll learn not to be scared. Together."
I'll never forget that.
Hannah didn't go back to the house she'd shared with Derek. She went home with our parents. Her OB watched her closely for the rest of the pregnancy.
Her weight steadied. Then it climbed. So did the baby's.
At thirty-eight weeks, Hannah delivered a healthy girl. She named her Lily.
I was in the delivery room when the nurse laid Lily on her chest. Hannah looked down at her daughter and cried so hard she couldn't get words out.
Finally she whispered, "You made it."
Months later, Hannah sold the house, signed the divorce papers, and bought a smaller place ten minutes from our parents.
She never blamed herself for not catching what Derek and Carol were doing.
But she changed one thing for good.
When someone called her dramatic, or difficult, or too sensitive, or irrational, she stopped treating those words as proof that she was wrong.
That takeout container I dropped into my purse became evidence.
But the thing that actually saved my sister happened before any lab result came back.
I knew something was wrong.
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She said something was wrong.
And this time, somebody believed her right away.
