“Easy,” she whispered.

“Easy.

You’ve been through more than most people ever do.”

“My babies.” It came out as a rasp; the breathing tube had scraped my voice down to almost nothing.

“Where are my babies?”

She hesitated.

It was only a second, but I had already learned, in three days I couldn’t remember, to be terrified of the pauses of medical people.

“They’re in the NICU,” she said gently.