Derek came to my hospital bed late that night, carrying fresh flowers and wearing an expression as cold as the water in a winter creek.

He leaned in close, so the nurses could not hear.

“Tell them you lost your balance, Nora,” he whispered.

“Just tell them that, and we can still be a family.

We can put all of this behind us.”

I put my hand on my stomach, and beneath my palm, my daughter kicked — strong, and alive, and entirely unaware of how close she had come to never being born at all.

And I looked up at the man who had put us both on that kitchen floor, and I gave him the only true thing I said to anyone that night.