My throat tightened.
“And then I think about what I said at the hospital.”
“Mary asked you.”
“I agreed.”
“Because you trusted her.”
I shook my head.
“I keep thinking I traded her for them.”
She reached across the table.
I withdrew my hand, not from hatred, but because I needed to finish.
“I’ve never wished they weren’t born. Not once.”
“I believe you.”
“But I wish she hadn’t died.”
“Of course you do.”
I stared at her tearful face.
“Those aren’t the same wish,” she said.
I remembered Mary’s question.
Even if you missed me?
I’d promised to miss her every day while loving our daughters just as deeply.
She’d believed me.
A baby began crying.
I entered the nursery, lifted her, and accidentally woke her sister.
Soon, I had one daughter against each shoulder.
Their grandmother watched from the doorway.
“Mary would’ve laughed at this,” I said.
