She gave birth that morning.
It was a little girl.
Six pounds and something.
The baby was healthy.
Anna wasn’t.
Something went wrong after the delivery.
Bleeding.
Then more bleeding.
Then a series of medical terms James had clearly heard from doctors but couldn’t properly repeat.
She deteriorated quickly.
“How did they call you?” I asked.
That was the part I couldn’t understand.
James swallowed.
“They didn’t at first.”
A nurse came out of the room while he was still talking.
She held a clipboard against her chest.
She looked between us.
“Are you his wife?”
“I am.”
She nodded gently.
“Ma’am, I think this may help.”
Help with what?
I almost asked.
Instead, I waited.
“When she was going downhill, we asked her whether there was anyone we could call.”
My chest tightened.
“She wasn’t fully conscious by then,” the nurse continued. “Not really. But she kept saying one name.”
She tilted her head toward James.
