I was still shaking from labor. I could barely process the sentences coming out of his mouth.
“Daniel. This is your daughter.”
Claire was already on her feet. “Why? Why won’t you take our daughter home?”
He wouldn’t look at her. He stared at the floor.
Then, barely above a whisper: “Look at her back.”
I hadn’t noticed anything until that moment. Carefully, I turned the baby and pulled the blanket down an inch.
At the base of her spine was a small raised patch of skin, reddish, no bigger than a coin.
My stomach dropped straight through the floor.
“Spina bifida,” I whispered.
Claire didn’t cry.
She screamed.
PART 4
“The ultrasounds were normal! They said she was healthy!”
Daniel wouldn’t look at anyone. A second nurse rushed in behind the first. Claire was coming apart in real time, and my brother — my brother who slept on my couch for a month after we buried our parents, who held my hand through every needle I’d ever been afraid of — turned around and walked out of the delivery room.
