They Asked for Thirty Lemon Desserts While My Newborn Fought to Breathe
My hand rested on Brooklyn’s wrist while my body tried to heal from the surgery.
Brooklyn opened her eyes in the quiet room.
She clutched the edge of her blanket with her small fingers.
On the small laminate table beside the pullout bed lay Brooklyn’s crayon drawing of our family under a rainbow, its edges slightly curled from the dry air.
A thin diagonal bar of yellow light lay across the dark carpet near the foot of the couch.
She heard the quiet, sharp sound of heels moving across the tile floor outside.
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