Your Children Are Not Luggage
I gave them Marissa’s.
Then I watched the nurse’s expression change when I handed over the orange bottle and the note.
She didn’t gasp. Professionals rarely do. She placed both items in a clear plastic bag, labeled it, and asked the security officer to document who had received it.
The clock on the wall said 2:41 a.m. That number stayed with me.
There are moments when your family becomes a case file before you’re ready to admit it.
Lily was taken behind a curtain. Mason sat beside me in the waiting area, wrapped in a hospital blanket, staring at the dead tablet in his lap.