As though our son lying somewhere down the hallway had suddenly stopped being ours.
Before I signed anything, I asked to see him again.
A nurse brought him into the room.
He was sleeping inside a white blanket.
Tiny nose.
Tiny fingers.
Dark hair pressed against his forehead.
She placed him in my arms.
The moment I touched him, his eyes opened.
Then his little hand closed around my finger.
My entire body tightened.
Something inside me was screaming not to let go.
But Brian stood near the doorway.
“Please,” he whispered. “We agreed.”
I didn’t remember agreeing.
I remembered being terrified.
Somehow, minutes later, my signature was on the paperwork.
When I left the hospital, I carried the empty infant car seat Brian had brought with us.
He walked several steps ahead of me.
I couldn’t stop looking at that empty seat.
We were almost at the parking lot when suddenly someone shouted my name.
“Sarah!”
I turned.
The nurse who had brought me my baby was running toward me.
She was breathing hard and clutching a folded sheet of paper.
Brian’s face changed instantly.
“Don’t,” he said.
But the nurse ignored him.
She stopped directly in front of me, tears filling her eyes.
Then she pushed the paper into my hands.
“Before you leave your son,” she whispered, “you need to know what your husband asked us to keep from you.”
I looked at Brian.
And for the first time that morning…
he looked terrified.
