Not exactly fear.
Something closer to defeat.
As if somebody had handed him confirmation of a disaster he had already been expecting.
“Ethan.”
My voice sharpened.
“What’s wrong?”
He whispered:
“No.”
Vanessa stopped smiling.
“What?”
He adjusted the blanket.
Looked again.
“No.”
One of the nurses stepped closer.
“Sir?”
Ethan turned toward me.
Then said:
“I can’t do this.”
I thought I had misheard.
“What?”
He handed the baby back toward me.
I did not take her immediately.
“Ethan, what are you talking about?”
“I can’t take her home.”
Vanessa stared at him.
The room changed instantly.
Seconds earlier it had been full of relief.
Now every sound felt too loud.
The monitor beside my bed.
The air vent.
A cart moving somewhere in the hallway.
Vanessa said:
“Give me my daughter.”
