I Begged My Parents to Care for My Newborn After a Truck Accident. At 2 A.M., the Uncle They Dismissed Walked Into My Hospital Room.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said.
“I need to check your pain level and make sure little Noah is feeding soon.”
At the sound of his name, Noah stirred against Beatrice, making small searching motions with his mouth.
“I can help,” Aunt Beatrice said.
Melissa smiled.
“We’ll work around your injuries.
No rushing.”
That became the pattern of the next hour.