“She put her head on my chest,” he whispered. “And I suddenly realized how insane I had been. I was so afraid of losing her in ten years, or fifteen years, or whenever that day comes, that I was willing to lose her today.”
I couldn’t speak.
Daniel reached into his jacket and pulled out the pen the social worker had given him.
“I never signed.”
My eyes dropped to the pen.
For weeks I had believed Daniel was the stronger one because he could talk about giving Sophie away without falling apart. Standing there, I finally understood that he hadn’t been stronger at all.
He had simply been more frightened than I was.
“Where is she?” I asked.
The nurse looked back toward the elevators.
“Upstairs.”
I didn’t wait for Daniel.
I turned and ran.
I still remember the sound of my shoes against the hospital floor and how badly my chest hurt as I reached the elevator. I kept thinking about Sophie stretching her arms toward me and calling “Mama” while I sat at that table with a pen in my hand.
When the elevator doors opened, I almost collided with another nurse.
Then I saw Daniel’s empty chair outside Sophie’s room.
