My daughter was born at 4:52 on a Tuesday morning.
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After me, the first person to hold her was my mother-in-law.
Except I never handed her over.
Beverly simply took her.
The nurse had just placed Wren on my chest. She was tiny, furious, slippery, and perfect, and I was crying so hard I could barely see her.
Roland stood beside the bed with his phone in his hand, taking pictures and sending messages.
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What I didn’t know was that at 4:30, he had texted his mother to tell her we were close.
I also didn’t know she had already been sitting in the waiting room since three.
The door opened.
Beverly Tran walked in.
Sixty-two years old.
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Silver hair perfectly styled.
Pearls around her neck.
At five in the morning.
She crossed the room quickly and held out both arms.
“Oh, let Grandma see her.”
The nurse hesitated and looked at me.
Before I could respond, Beverly lifted Wren from my chest.
Just like that.
The place where my daughter had been suddenly felt cold.
“Oh, she’s definitely a Tran,” Beverly said, carrying her toward the window. “Look at that chin. Roland’s chin. His father’s too.”
