She suggested formula before I’d even had time to understand feeding.
She told the lactation consultant that I was “overly emotional” and might need something to calm down.
When she finally left, she kissed Roland on both cheeks.
She kissed Wren on the forehead.
For me, she gave a light pat on the foot through the blanket.
“Get some sleep,” she said. “You look awful.”
After she left, Roland fell asleep in the chair beside the window.
I held Wren in the darkness and checked my phone.
There was one message I had been waiting for.
One I wasn’t sure would ever come.
An hour earlier, I had sent a photo of Wren wrapped in the hospital’s striped blanket.
No words.
Just the photograph.
To a number I hadn’t contacted in almost two years.
At 6:14 a.m., my phone buzzed.
Is she healthy?
Are you?
That was all.
