I kept my eyes shut.

And through the cracked bedroom door I could see the shape of the two of them, my husband and Dr.

Ellsworth, the chief of obstetrics, standing together in the dark like two men closing a deal on a car — and my husband was wearing the tailored navy suit I had bought him myself, for our anniversary, three years before.

I want you to understand that I did not, in that moment, feel grief.

Grief came later, in waves, for months.