I can’t rearrange you almost dying.”

She arrived with a bag containing my glasses, comfortable socks, a notebook, and the lavender lotion my mother used to keep in her bathroom.

When she saw me, she set the bag down and hugged me carefully above the bandage.

“Don’t apologize,” she whispered.

“Not for the baby, the call, or any of this.”

I had not realized I was about to apologize until she said it.

Leila listened as I described the party, the ambulance, and the unknown grandfather who had appeared at my door.