it could warn the guilty. Delivered too late, it could wound the innocent.
And I was still trying to determine which category Ethan belonged to.
My abdomen throbbed beneath layers of gauze. The emergency C-section had lasted less than an hour, though pain and terror had stretched it into something timeless. One moment I had been gripping Ethan’s hand, listening to the fetal monitor skip and stutter. The next, white lights had blurred overhead as nurses ran beside my gurney.
Noah had been born first, silent for three unbearable seconds before releasing a thin, furious cry.
Nora followed with one hand curled beside her cheek, as though she had entered the world already thinking.
They slept beside me now in clear bassinets, wrapped in identical white blankets with pale green stripes. Noah’s mouth opened and closed in tiny dreams. Nora’s dark hair lay in a soft swirl across her head.
I had spent my adult life presiding over rooms filled with grief, rage, lies, and consequence.
Nothing had ever frightened me as much as loving them.
I watched Noah’s chest rise.
Then Nora’s.
