Chapter 2 - The Paper in the Parking Lot
Derek stepped in between us. “She’s been discharged. We’re done here.”
Dana didn’t even glance at him. She kept her eyes on me and pressed a folded sheet of paper into my free hand.
“Read it,” she said. “Then decide.”
It was a printout from the hospital’s social services file. My hands were shaking so hard I had to press it flat against the carrier to read the lines.
One of them stopped me cold. Staff had been instructed by the father to stop bringing the infant to the mother’s room. And under that: the mother appears to be under significant pressure from her partner regarding the placement decision.
Then came the part that took all the air out of me.
The same file noted that the mother had asked repeatedly to see her son. That every single time he was brought in, she held him, cried, and did not want to give him back.
That was me. Every word of that was me. And someone had written it down while I was being told I didn’t really want him.
I lifted my head and looked at my husband.
“You told them to stop bringing my baby to me?”
Derek’s jaw went tight. “I was protecting you. You were a mess, Nora. You weren’t in any shape to make that call, so I made it easier on you.”
“Easier.”
“Yes. Easier.” His voice climbed. “You think I wanted this? I did the hard thing so you wouldn’t have to. One day you’re going to thank me for it.”
Dana cut in, her voice low and level. “Ma’am, I’ve been on this floor since your son was born. I watched you ask for him at every shift change. I watched you count his fingers twice. That is not a woman who wants to walk away.” She swallowed. “You still have time. He’s still here. Nothing is final until you leave this lot.”
Derek threw up his hands. “This is unbelievable. We decided this together. It was our decision — ”
And that word finally cracked something open in me.
Our. There had never been an “our.” There had been him talking, and me nodding, because I was too tired and too scared and too hollowed-out to hear my own voice underneath his.
Get some rest. You’re not thinking straight. Trust me. I know what’s best for us.
He’d said it so many times, so calmly, that I had started to believe the choice had been mine all along.
I looked straight at him. One question.
“Did you love him? Even for one moment?”
Derek opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He looked down at the pavement.
His silence answered me better than any sentence could have.
I looked down at the empty carrier hanging off my arm. Then I handed it to Dana. I took one long breath, and when I spoke, my voice was shaking, but it was mine, and it was certain.
“Take me back to my son.”
Walking back through those sliding doors, I felt the fear settle lower than the love for the first time, instead of sitting on top of it. I had never actually wanted to say goodbye. I’d been frightened into believing that giving him up was the kind thing, the grown-up thing, the loving thing.
It wasn’t.
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Here is what I carried out of that hospital, along with my boy:
Sometimes all it takes is one person running after you — one hand reaching toward you — to help you finally hear, and trust, the voice that was yours the whole time.
