I grabbed the diaper and ran to the car.
Ethan’s name appeared on my cell phone when I opened the back door.
I couldn’t answer.
My hands were shaking so much that it took me too long to fasten the security chair.
Lily was crying with a hoarse sound that she didn’t know hb.
I was telling him that Mom was there.
I said it so many times that the phrase stopped being shaped.
At each traffic light he would put his hand back to touch his knee, his foot, the edge of his sandal.
I needed to feel like he was still with me.
The clock on the board was 3:42 when I arrived at the emergency room.
A nurse saw Lily’s face and didn’t make us wait.
He didn’t even finish asking me the name before opening the double doors.
The hospital smelled of disinfectant, warm plastic and old coffee.
