“The shape around his eyes. The little crease beside his left eyebrow. Margaret had it. Logan has it. And your son…”
He stopped.
“Your son has it too.”
I looked down.
I had never noticed anything unusual.
To me, he was simply beautiful.
Red-cheeked, sleepy, tiny.
Mine.
“What’s his name?” Robert asked.
I hesitated.
Logan and I had once talked about baby names long before pregnancy became real.
He liked old-fashioned names.
I liked short ones.
There had been one name we both loved.
“Ethan.”
Robert nodded.
“Ethan.”
He said it as if committing it to memory.
A knock came at the door.
The nurse stepped inside.
“Mrs.—”
She checked my chart.
“Joanna, we need to take Ethan for a routine examination for a few minutes.”
Every part of me resisted immediately.
The nurse must have seen it.
“You can come with us if you’d prefer.”
“I would.”
