“What kind of mark?”
“Near her collarbone. Dark, kind of oval. Looks like somebody pressed a thumb into wet paint.”
The nurse chuckled.
“Birthmark. Completely harmless.”
Caleb looked down again.
For the first time all day, I felt almost normal.
“Left side?”
“Yes.”
He grinned.
“She already has more distinguishing features than I do.”
“That’s not difficult,” I said.
He looked offended.
Our daughter was alive.
For the first time all day, I felt almost normal.
Our daughter was alive.
She was healthy.
Caleb was making bad jokes.
After ten years of being afraid to hope, I let myself believe we had finally made it through.
Caleb came back beside me while our daughter was taken to the nearby newborn assessment area for the rest of her routine checks.
I closed my eyes for what felt like ten seconds.
“Like yours?”
“Hopefully not. I was bald by thirty.”
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