My kitchen felt like a courtroom that morning. Daniel stood on one side of the counter. I stood on the other, in sweatpants, running on maybe four hours of sleep across three days. June slept in a bassinet by the window. Eli was down the hall under his dinosaur blanket, oblivious to all of it.
“You don’t get to just show up here,” I told him.
“Nora, please. Let me explain.”
“Explain?” I pointed at the bassinet. “I’ve been up since four this morning taking care of the daughter you handed back like a return at a store.”
He flinched.
Good. I wanted it to hurt.
“The doctors started talking about surgery,” he said. “Therapy. Specialists. Braces. Years of it.”
“She’s your daughter.”
“I know.”
“You held her for ten seconds, Daniel.”
“I know.”
I gripped the counter edge until my knuckles went white. “Dr. Alvarez called yesterday. It’s a mild form. She may need one surgery and some therapy, but she has every chance at a full, normal life.”
