At night I would stand over the bassinet and feel two loves arguing: the love that had agreed to give her away, and the love that now had no one to give her to except ourselves.

The second love won by showing up at 3 a.m. with a burp cloth and a willingness to be bad at it until we were less bad.

There were days I was angry at my own yes.

I had said yes to my brother.

I had not said yes to being rewritten.

Anger at a yes is a complicated animal.