Jenna singing off-key.

Wesley hiccupping after a feed.

Now every answer was postponed, and every postponed answer felt like a threat.

At the neonatal unit window I could see a nurse adjusting a tiny blanket around my son.

His face was partially obscured by monitoring equipment.

I pressed my palm against the glass and whispered, “I’m here.”

PART 7

My mother’s first text arrived at ten fourteen.