“What else did you do?” I asked.
He looked away.
The nurse’s expression softened.
“He also told us you had no family support.”
I laughed once.
It wasn’t a happy sound.
“My sister lives twenty minutes away.”
“I know,” the nurse said.
I stared at her.
“What?”
“She called the hospital this morning.”
My heart stopped.
“She did?”
The nurse nodded.
“She said she’d been trying to reach you all night. Your husband apparently told her you were sleeping and didn’t want visitors.”
I looked at Brian.
“You blocked my sister?”
“I was trying to keep things calm.”
“You isolated me.”
He stepped closer.
“I was scared.”
“So was I.”
My voice broke.
“But I was scared because I had just become a mother.”
I looked toward the maternity ward.
Somewhere behind those doors was my son.
My son.
Not a diagnosis.
Not a problem.
Not a future Brian had the right to decide.
My baby.
I handed the letter back to the nurse.
“Can I see him?”
She nodded immediately.
“Yes.”
Brian reached for my arm.
“Please, Samantha.”
I pulled away.
“No.”
He froze.
For the first time since our son was born, I saw something change in his expression.
He realized I wasn’t following him anymore.
I wasn’t walking toward the exit.
I wasn’t signing another document.
I was turning around.
And walking back toward my child.
But as the nurse led me down the hallway, she stopped beside another door.
“There is one more thing you should know.”
I looked at her.
She pointed toward the small window.
“Your son isn’t alone.”
I stepped closer.
Through the glass, I saw my newborn lying peacefully in a bassinet.
And beside him stood a woman I hadn’t seen in years.
My mother.
The woman Brian had told me was out of state.
The woman he said couldn’t come.
She was holding a photograph in one hand.
And when she saw me through the glass, she began to cry.
Then she mouthed four words that made me realize Brian hadn’t just been hiding the truth about our son.
He had been hiding something about my own family.
“Your father called me.”
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