Then she laughed and added, « Actually, you’re going to hate this. There are three. »
I drove over with groceries, vitamins, and enough panic for both of us. She looked happier than ever before.
I believed her.
The day she was due, I texted at breakfast.
Marcus, her boyfriend, seemed nervous but committed. He painted the nursery, built three cribs, and complained about hospital parking like any expectant father. I went to appointments whenever Vanessa asked.
By the final month, she was huge, exhausted, and constantly joking that motherhood had already ruined her bladder.
Nothing felt wrong.
The day she was due, I texted at breakfast.
I told myself they were busy at the hospital. Vanessa had warned me labor might make her shut everyone out.
No answer.
