7 lbs 2 oz.

I’m not asking you for anything.

I just want you to know he exists, and that he’s fine, and that I’m fine. — C.

And the letter was one page, both sides, on lined paper torn out of a legal pad.

I am going to put it here in full, with her permission, because every time I have tried to summarize it I have made it sound like something it is not.

Wes,

I found out in December.

I’m nineteen weeks.

It’s yours, and I know exactly what you’re going to do with that sentence, so let me save you the trouble: it’s from the twenty-sixth of October, there is no one else and there has not been anyone else, and I am not going to spend a page proving that to a man I was married to for four years.

I’m writing this rather than calling because I don’t have a number for you.