“What happened between Emily and me created this situation,” I said. “If I hadn’t hurt her two years ago, you wouldn’t have had to choose.”
David immediately shook his head.
“Don’t make yourself responsible for everything.”
“I created the rupture.”
“You did,” he said gently. “But Emily isn’t a consequence of your mistake. She’s a person who needed someone. She needed family. So I tried to be family until the rest of you could figure yourselves out.”
Before I could answer, the door opened.
Patricia walked in.
My sister stopped when she saw me.
“Cathy.”
“Pat.”
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then she sat down.
“I wanted to tell you.”
“I know.”
“Emily asked me not to.”
“I know that too.”
Patricia’s face tightened.
“I was afraid you’d say something again.”
The truth stung.
“I understand.”
“I’ve been angry with you.”
“You had every reason.”
“I still am.”
“Okay.”
“She was devastated after that phone call, Cathy.”
Patricia’s voice cracked.
“She was my daughter, and I couldn’t fix what you had done.”
“I know.”
“And you barely kept trying.”
“I called twice.”
“Exactly.”
I looked down.
“I thought continuing would make things worse.”
“You should have kept trying.”
She was right.
“I know.”
The four of us sat together in that maternity room with Rosalind between us.
A three-day-old baby who knew nothing about arguments, estrangements, pride, fear, or the strange ways adults sometimes make love unnecessarily complicated.
Finally Patricia asked,
“What happens now?”
I took a breath.
“Now I do better.”
She shook her head.
“You can’t just say that and expect—”
“I know.”
I stopped her gently.
“I don’t expect anything quickly. I know trust doesn’t come back because I apologize once.”
I looked at Emily.
“I’m only asking whether there’s a possibility.”
Emily stared at Rosalind.
Then she surprised me.
“I was going to call you.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“Before I left the hospital.”
“Why?”
She smiled sadly.
“Because I’ve been lying here for three days looking at her and thinking about what kind of family I want her to have.”
She paused.
“And I don’t want there to be an empty space where you’re supposed to be.”
My eyes filled.
“I don’t want her growing up without you because you and I couldn’t figure this out.”
“Emily…”
She looked directly at me.
“But I need you to be different.”
“I am.”
“I need you to prove it.”
That was fair.
“I know.”
I nodded.
“You can’t trust me because I say I’ve changed. You’ll have to see it in what I do.”
“Yes.”
“Will you let me try?”
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then she looked down at Rosalind.
“Yes.”
And she held the baby toward me.
It was such a small movement.
And it meant everything.
I carefully took Rosalind into my arms.
She was warm and astonishingly small.
I had held many newborns over the years.
Friends’ babies.
Relatives’ babies.
But holding Rosalind felt different.
I thought about the eight months I had missed.
I thought about David sitting through ultrasound appointments.
I thought about the words I had said two years earlier.
And I thought about how much easier it would be to keep being the person who justified those words rather than doing the painful work of becoming someone better.
I looked down at her.
“Hello, Rosalind.”
She stared past me with complete newborn indifference.
“I’m your great-aunt.”
My voice broke slightly.
“And I’m going to do better.”
Emily watched me carefully.
Not fully trusting yet.
But willing.
For now, that was enough.
After about ten minutes, I handed Rosalind back.
Then I stood.
“I should probably return to my room before my doctors discover their recovering surgery patient escaped into maternity.”
Emily almost smiled.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I followed David here.”
I looked at him.
“Walk me back?”
“Of course.”
We left the maternity ward together.
For the first half of the walk, neither of us spoke.
Finally, near the elevators, David asked,
“Are you angry with me?”
I thought about it.
“At you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know.”
He waited.
“I’m something.”
I searched for the word.
Then I found it.
“Moved.”
He looked surprised.
“You went to every ultrasound.”
“Yes.”
“When she needed someone.”
“Yes.”
“That is exactly who you are.”
He looked away.
“I still should have told you.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“It is.”
I looked at him.
“But it’s also true that you showed up for her. Both things can be true at once.”
He gave me a tired smile.
“You’re being generous.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I’m being accurate.”
Inside the elevator, he asked,
“What do we do now?”
“You keep showing up.”
“For Emily?”
“For all of us.”
He looked at me.
“And David?”
“Yes?”
“Next time something like this happens, you tell me.”
He nodded.
“Even if you’re afraid I’m not ready.”
“Yes.”
“Even if the truth is uncomfortable.”
“Yes.”
“We’ve been married thirty-one years. Let me decide with you whether I’m ready.”
He smiled faintly.
“Thirty-one years.”
I studied him.
“You secretly supported my niece through eight months of pregnancy.”
“Yes.”
“You sat through every ultrasound.”
“Yes.”
“You brought her flowers.”
“Yes.”
