Everything happened quickly at first. Then it did not.
Liora’s heart rate dropped. Nurses moved around me with voices that were too calm. Keaton stood beside the bed, gripping my hand while a doctor explained that they needed to perform an emergency procedure.
I remember the ceiling lights moving above me.
I remember asking whether my baby was safe.
Someone told me they were doing everything they could.
After that, my memories became pieces instead of a complete night.
A nurse placed a baby against my chest.
Keaton was crying.
I tried to lift my head, but my body felt heavy and far away.
The baby wore a small white cap decorated with pink flowers. Her eyes were closed. I touched her cheek and whispered her name.
Then someone took her away.
“She needs to be checked,” Keaton said. “You need to rest.”
I believed him.
The next morning, I woke with a different baby cap beside my pillow—a plain pink one. Keaton explained that Liora had spit up on the flowered cap.
It was such a small detail that I forgot it almost immediately.
Elio visited that afternoon.
He climbed onto a chair beside my bed and stared at the baby in my arms.
“She’s smaller than the rabbit,” he whispered.
“Most babies are,” Keaton said.
Elio frowned at him.
“I’m talking to Mom.”
He offered one finger, and the baby’s hand closed around it.
Elio’s entire face softened.
“I’m your brother,” he told her. “Nobody gets to be mean to you.”
I cried because I thought I was looking at the beginning of their bond.
The following afternoon, Keaton drove us home.
