“Promise me.”
Their wedding was small.
Ben wore a grey suit and cried when he saw her walk down the aisle.
My parents were still smiling.
“You chose well,” Dad said to Ben, clapping him on the shoulder.
That stung.
I watched Ben place the ring on Rosie’s finger.
And I wondered if I truly knew the man I called my best friend.
“You chose well,”
***
Three years passed.
I got over my hurt feelings and met a great guy.
Rosie moved into a little yellow house with Ben on the edge of town.
She called me every morning at nine to tell me what she was wearing.
Then came the phone call I had prayed for.
“I’m going to be a mom,” Rosie whispered. “We’re having twins.”
Then came the phone call I had prayed for.
I dropped to the floor of my apartment, laughing and sobbing at once.
All my life, people had said Rosie would never live a normal life.
Now, she was going to be a mom.
I should have known joy that big could not travel alone.
The pregnancy was difficult.
At thirty-four weeks, Rosie was rushed to the hospital.
The doctors’ prognosis was grim.
The pregnancy was difficult.
The waiting room clock ticked past midnight.
I stared at the double doors where they had wheeled Rosie in, willing them to swing open with good news.
Ben sat beside me, his knee bouncing.
“She’s going to be okay,” I whispered, more to myself than to him. “Rosie is strong.”
Ben pressed his palms against his eyes.
I heard a sound come out of him that was somewhere between a sob and a prayer.
