That’s when Leona appeared at my bedside with a clipboard.
“Just the hospital’s intake packet, sweetheart. Dr. Bauer asked me to bring it by. Sign where the yellow tabs are.”
Dr. Peter Bauer had been my obstetrician for two years, and he played golf with Leona every other Sunday.
I signed five yellow tabs between contractions.
I read contracts for a living, and I couldn’t have told you what any of those pages said.
Antonia was born at 2:47 that afternoon, seven pounds, two ounces.
The delivery room smelled like antiseptic and lavender hand soap.
The nurse laid her on my chest, warm and slippery and furious, and everything else in the world dissolved.
She was healthy and beautiful, with the softest cheeks I’d ever touched and dark, serious eyes that seemed to study my face.
Ian stood beside the bed, smiling through tears.
