He told me our daughter had died and that I had nearly died and that they had had to take my uterus, and then he said, over and over, that the only thing that mattered was that I was here.

He meant it.

I have never once doubted that he meant it that day.

That is part of what makes the rest of this so hard to explain to people.

Gertrude came to the house eleven days later.

There were six people in my living room.

My sister Clara.

Logan.