“Don’t try to make me feel bad because you didn’t plan properly. Call someone else.”
Then she hung up.
No question about whether Owen was hurt.
No, “Are you okay?”
No, “I’m coming.”
Just a cruise.
Owen cried again in the hallway, and something in me went still.
Not angry at first. Anger is hot. This was colder than that. Cleaner. Like a pane of glass dropping into place between me and a truth I should have seen years ago.
I asked the nurse for my phone back. Then, from that hospital bed, with an IV in my arm and my body shaking from pain medication and adrenaline, I handled the problem myself.
I booked a certified overnight postpartum nurse. Then I hired a daytime caregiver with infant experience for the next several days. I paid the rush rates without blinking. I messaged Jacob the confirmations so he could breathe for the first time in an hour.
