had suddenly stopped being ours.
Before I signed anything, I asked to see him one more time.
A nurse brought him into the room.
He was asleep, wrapped in a white blanket.
Tiny nose.
Tiny fingers.
Dark hair resting against his forehead.
The nurse placed him in my arms.
The moment I touched him, he opened his eyes.
Then his tiny hand closed around my finger.
My whole body went still.
Something inside me was screaming not to let him go.
But Michael was standing by the door.
“Please,” he whispered. “We agreed.”
I didn’t remember agreeing to anything.
I remembered being terrified.
Somehow, a few minutes later, my signature was on the papers.
When I left the hospital, I was carrying the empty baby carrier Michael had brought with him.
