“Sienna,” he cried. “I truly didn’t know.”

“You didn’t want to know,” I said.

“I thought you were just exaggerating.”

“You thought your comfort mattered more than my life.”

Then he sobbed, real and ugly. “Please. Let me see Hannah.”

I looked through the unit glass at my daughter. Her fingers curled around nothing, tiny but stubborn, fighting her way into the world one breath at a time.