Seven months after our divorce, I rushed into St. Jude’s Children’s and Women’s Hospital, still angry at my ex-wife, only to learn that she had just given birth to twin boys, and both of them were mine. Before the night was over, a nurse would place a brass key in my hand and tell me to use it before my own family arrived. And what was waiting for me beyond that was even more shocking.
It wasn’t a grand promise of romantic reconciliation.
But it was an undeniable, beautiful beginning.
“I’d love nothing more than to stay for dinner,” I answered sincerely.
As I started the engine and pulled away from the hospital curb, I noticed the small brass key sitting neatly in the cup holder of the center console between our seats.
Sylvia glanced down at the metal key as we drove through the quiet city streets.
“What are you going to do with that key now?” she asked softly.
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