sister.
The man who spent three evenings assembling our baby’s crib because the instructions were awful and he refused to surrender.
Under those hospital lights, he looked like a stranger.
“I was going to tell you,” he said.
I laughed once.
“You were going to tell me what?”
Maren suddenly gripped the wheelchair.
The nurse bent toward her.
“We need to move.”
But Maren shook her head and looked at me.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I honestly thought he told you about me.”
My voice barely worked.
“About you how?”
Adrian closed his eyes.
Maren answered first.
“My name is Maren Cole.”
Cole.
My married name.
Then she put one hand over her stomach, looked at Adrian, and said the word that broke everything open.
