One was sleeping.
The other was awake, moving her hand slowly beneath the blanket.
I walked closer.
For the first time since giving birth, I really looked at them.
Not at the diagnosis.
Not at the future I was terrified of.
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At them.
My daughters.
Baby A had a little crease between her eyebrows.
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Baby B had the roundest cheeks I had ever seen.
As I leaned over the crib, one tiny hand moved toward the other.
Her fingers found her sister’s hand.
And closed around it.
I covered my mouth.
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The nurse beside me whispered, “They’ve been doing that since they were brought in here.”
Something inside me collapsed.
All the fear, shame, anger, and confusion poured out at once.
