I Was Told My Newborn Had Died—Then My Eight-Year-Old Son Asked Why Daddy Had Paid Aunt Rachel to Take the Crying Bundle

Ethan had chosen where one should go and watched while I secured it.

“The bundle made a squeaky sound,” he said.

“Like a tiny cry.”

“What happened next?”

“She went down the stairs.

Not in the elevator.”

I pressed my palm against the mattress.

I wanted to say, That was your sister.