Her sweatshirt remained inside. I couldn’t wash it or even bring myself to remove it.
Everyone encouraged me to stay strong.
So I prepared bottles, recorded every feeding because exhaustion destroyed my memory, and checked the cribs repeatedly to make sure the girls were breathing.
My sister brought meals that mostly went untouched.
I lost weight. Sleep became impossible.
Whenever the house fell silent, I heard my own voice.
Save the babies.
Could I have answered differently?
Would Mary still be alive?
I knew she’d made the choice herself. Yet I couldn’t stop wondering whether I’d failed her.
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