“No sign of her.”
That should have relieved me.
Instead, the silence felt wrong.
My mother did not accept being told no.
She argued, recruited allies, changed the subject, or found another door.
She did not simply leave.
Around midnight, Brooklyn’s breathing slowed.
Kevin sat in a chair near the wall, his head tilted back and his arms folded.
I stayed beside Rosalie with one hand resting near the incubator.
The monitor kept its rhythm.
The ventilator kept breathing.
Every few minutes, I looked toward the door.
Nothing moved.
At some point after 2 a.m., exhaustion overpowered fear.
I did not decide to sleep.
My body simply stopped obeying me.
My last clear memory was the pale glow of the monitor across Kevin’s face and Brooklyn curled beneath her blanket.
When I woke, morning light was pressing through the blinds.
For one terrible second, I did not know where I was.
