I knew he was still angry. I was, too.
But I had spent enough time in that hospital wondering whether my children were safe. I wanted to direct whatever strength I had left toward the future.
A few days later, I was finally allowed to spend longer periods with the babies.
I approached the first cot and touched the tiny hand resting beside the blanket.
“Hello, my love,” I whispered.
Then I moved to the next.
And the next.
Nine times, I introduced myself to the children I had carried inside me.
When I reached the baby with the crescent-shaped mark, I stopped.
Mamdouh stood beside me.
“Have you decided on a name?” he asked.
I smiled through my tears.
“I want to call him Adam.”
“Adam,” he repeated softly.
I touched the baby’s tiny foot.
“You gave us a frightening beginning, little one,” I whispered. “But you will never have to wonder whether we searched for you.”
