I thought of that nursery, the yellow stars turning slowly over the empty crib, and could hardly bear it.

“Then she’s Hope,” I said.

“Whatever happens next, she’s Hope.”

A few minutes later the door opened.

I looked up, expecting Lucas.

Instead, a hospital social worker stepped inside and asked a question that made Hannah turn completely white.

“Before we discuss discharge plans,” she said, “I need to know who will be making decisions for this baby.”

For the first time, I realized that our family had prepared for a birth but not for a crisis.