There was a small complication after delivery—nothing dangerous, but enough that the doctors wanted to keep me for observation. Two extra days. Ray stayed the first night, then went home to shower, feed the cat, and “get things ready.”
“Call me the second they discharge you,” he said, squeezing my hand. “I’ll be there.”
I believed him.
When the nurse wheeled me out with my daughter bundled against my chest, Ray wasn’t there.
I told myself he was stuck in traffic. That his phone had died. That something small and harmless had gone wrong.
After twenty minutes, I called him.
Straight to voicemail.
I texted. Nothing.
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