The instant I said her name, his mouth folded inward.
“I’m sorry, Mel.”
I screamed until the pain from my incision became unbearable and someone had to help me breathe.
Claudia hadn’t survived.
Somehow, I had.
For the next two weeks, I barely left my bedroom.
My body constantly reminded me I’d given birth.
My empty arms reminded me there was no baby to hold.
Robert cleaned things that were already spotless. Tracy handled laundry, brought food, and spent afternoons with Willie.
My son grew quiet, and I assumed he was grieving.
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