Then she glanced at me.
“She hardly looks like you at all, dear. Isn’t that fortunate?”
Roland laughed.
I didn’t.
I lay in that hospital bed, exhausted and still recovering, watching my mother-in-law carry my six-minute-old daughter toward the window to show her the sunrise.
Daughter-in-lawgifts
“Roland,” I said quietly. “Can I have her back?”
He looked at me.
Then at his mother.
“In a minute, Simone. Mom waited all night.”
Beverly stayed for six hours.
She held Wren for most of them.
She told the nurses how the baby should be wrapped.
She told me I was holding my own daughter incorrectly.
She suggested formula before I’d even had time to understand feeding.
She told the lactation consultant that I was “overly emotional” and might need something to calm down.
When she finally left, she kissed Roland on both cheeks.
She kissed Wren on the forehead.
For me, she gave a light pat on the foot through the blanket.
“Get some sleep,” she said. “You look awful.”
After she left, Roland fell asleep in the chair beside the window.
I held Wren in the darkness and checked my phone.
There was one message I had been waiting for.
