What stayed with me most was the nurse’s expression.
She looked heartbroken, almost as though terrible news had been handed to me before I had even been given the chance to know my baby.
I turned toward Brian.
He stood near the wall, white-faced and frozen.
He never asked to hold our son.
Later, he finally said:
— We can’t do this.
— What are you saying?
— We’re too young. We aren’t prepared for a life like this.
“A life like this.”
Those words never left me.
The next morning, a hospital social worker came in carrying paperwork.
Brian remained beside me, yet he never reached for my hand.
“It doesn’t have to be forever,” he said.
Deep down, I knew otherwise.
Before I signed anything, the nurse brought my baby back one final time.
He looked tiny.
Completely calm.
Then I signed.
About an hour later, I walked from the hospital carrying an empty infant carrier…
That was when footsteps rushed up behind me.
The nurse.
