He avoided my eyes.
“We’re just looking at our options.”
The social worker carefully explained that arrangements could be made for our son to be placed with another family.
My hands started shaking.
Michael leaned closer.
“We can have other children someday.”
I stared at him.
Other children.
As if the baby lying somewhere across the hallway had suddenly stopped being ours.
Before I signed anything, I asked to see him one more time.
A nurse brought him into the room.
He was asleep, wrapped in a white blanket.
Tiny nose.
Tiny fingers.
Dark hair resting against his forehead.
The nurse placed him in my arms.
The moment I touched him, he opened his eyes.
Then his tiny hand closed around my finger.
My whole body went still.
Something inside me was screaming not to let him go.
But Michael was standing by the door.
“Please,” he whispered. “We agreed.”
