Chapter 4 - SOPHIE
Lauren named the baby Sophie from a hospital bed she could barely sit up in.
The name had been chosen months earlier.
Brent claimed they had not decided.
Lauren corrected him quietly.
“We decided.”
Sophie lay upstairs in the NICU.
CPAP.
IV line.
Tiny hat.
Her chest moved too quickly.
I stood outside the incubator and cried into my hands.
Daniel stayed beside me.
He had gone home long enough to change clothes.
He returned as my husband, not as a consultant.
“Will she be okay?”
“Possibly.”
I hated the word.
He did too.
“Thirty-two-week babies often do very well.”
“Often.”
“Yes.”
“What about the oxygen problem?”
“We have to let her team tell us.”
He refused to use his expertise as false certainty.
That helped later.
At the time, I wanted prophecy.
Lauren remained in high-risk postpartum care.
Brent sat beside her bed.
I watched through the doorway.
He touched her shoulder.
She flinched.
Small.
Enough.
A nurse noticed too.
When Brent went for coffee, the nurse closed the door.
Lauren stared at me.
“Where’s my phone?”
“I have it.”
She exhaled.
“Don’t give it to him.”
My pulse jumped.
“Why?”
Her eyes filled.
“I don’t know.”
“Lauren.”
“Just don’t.”
I sat beside her.
“Did Brent hurt you?”
She turned her face toward the window.
“Not now.”
“That means yes.”
“No.”
“Lauren.”
“Stop.”
I stopped.
That was harder than asking.
Her body.
Her timing.
Outside, my mother Patricia arrived carrying three bags and panic.
“What happened?”
I told her the medical facts.
Abruption.
Emergency C-section.
Sophie alive.
Lauren stable.
Mom cried.
Then:
“Where’s Brent?”
I looked at her.
“Coffee.”
“He must be devastated.”
I said nothing.
Mom noticed.
“What?”
“Lauren has bruises.”
Pregnancy-softness disappeared from her face.
“She bruises easily.”
“On her abdomen.”
“She bumped the island.”
The hallway went silent.
Daniel turned.
“How do you know?”
Mom realized too late.
“What?”
“You said she bumped the island.”
“She told me.”
“When?”
Mom looked toward Lauren’s room.
“A few days ago.”
“You knew?”
“It was an accident.”
“Lauren told doctors there was no fall.”
“It wasn’t a fall.”
“What was it?”
My mother’s eyes moved away.
“Ask your sister.”
Brent returned carrying coffee.
He saw our faces.
Stopped.
Then looked at Mom.
Not me.
Mom whispered:
“I didn’t say anything.”
May you like
Daniel heard.
So did I.
