He didn’t move.
Instead, he looked at Henry the way some men look at a ruined wall. Not grief, not fear… appraisal.
“I’m not doing this,” he said.
I stared at him. “What?”
My husband’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t sign up for a life like this, Bella. I wanted a son I could throw a ball with, a kid I could surf with. Henry won’t be able to do any of that.”
I waited for him to take it back. I waited for him to cry, to panic, to say anything a decent man would say after hearing hard news about his son.
He picked up his jacket and walked out of the delivery room like he was leaving a meeting that had run long.
The nurse touched my shoulder. The neurologist said something I didn’t hear.
I looked down at my son, so innocent and trusting.
“Well, sweet boy,” I whispered. “I guess it’s just you and me now.”
