“Rosie is stable,” the doctor said. “Both babies are breathing on their own.”
A sob escaped me as I grabbed Ben’s sleeve.
He was already crying, silent tears running down his face.
“She made it,” I whispered. “She made it, Ben.”
My mother approached with her arms open for an embrace.
All my anger surged to the surface.
I stepped away.
“What I did?” Mom frowned. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”
I raised the contract.
The color vanished from both my parents’ faces.
“You wanted to send her away!”
“You don’t understand what we were planning—”
“I understand perfectly. And you will not walk into that recovery room and pretend you care about her. Not today. Not ever.”
“Of course we care,” my father snapped. “That’s exactly why we did this.”
“He’s the one who accepted money to marry her.” Mom pointed at Ben. “You can’t be angry at us without being angry with him, too.”
“You signed a contract to get rid of her,” I said. “Ben signed one to save her. That is not the same.”
People had begun gathering in the hallway.
Nurses.
Two women from the maternity waiting room.
Even a hospital volunteer had stopped pretending not to listen.
My mother glanced around.
At last, she realized everyone had heard.
“This isn’t the place for this,” she hissed.
“No,” I said. “The place was three years ago, when you decided Rosie was a burden you needed to handle.”
No one around us moved.
Every face had turned toward my parents.
My mother was the first to lower her gaze.
