The nurse came in behind me.
“To Baby A.”
I looked at the card placed in the crib.
Then I looked at the other one.
Baby B.
Two clinical labels.
Like they’re not sisters.
Like they’re not mine.
Then Baby A stretched one of her tiny arms toward the edge of the crib.
His little fingers opened and closed in the air.
Baby B moved beside her.
I started crying.Discover Articles Baby
“Can I charge them?”
The nurse nodded.
A few moments later I was sitting in a chair, with a newborn woman leaning on either side of my chest.
They were so light.
So warm.
So incredibly small.
Baby A made a soft sound.Review Articles Maternity
Baby B turned her head toward her.
That was it.
Just a tiny move.
But it destroyed me.
“I almost allowed someone to separate them,” I whispered.
Brian was standing at the door.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I looked up sharply.
“Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That someone wanted only one of them.”
His face paled.
“No.”
I believed him.
But she was still furious.
With him.
With me herself.
With everybody.
Especially with myself.
“I was afraid,” I whispered.
Brian came over.
“Me too.”
“I thought leaving meant admitting I couldn’t do this.”
He swallowed saliva.
“What do you think now?”
I looked at my daughters.
“I think I made a permanent decision while going through a temporary panic.”
Less than fifteen minutes later a social worker came in.
She introduced herself as Mrs. Cole.
