Six months after our divorce, my former husband called to invite me to his wedding. I replied with four simple words: “I just gave birth.”
Then I followed with, “I’m not going anywhere.” Less than thirty minutes later, he burst into my hospital room still dressed in his groom’s tuxedo… his face ghostly pale with pan!c.
“Today I’m marrying the woman who finally gave me the family you never managed to,” Adrian said, chuckling through the phone.
My newborn daughter rested against my chest, still pink from birth, her tiny hands balled into fists as if she had arrived ready to fight the world. We sat alone in a private room at a Brooklyn hospital. Rain drummed softly against the glass while the sterile scent of disinfectant mixed with the fading fragrance of the flowers my mother had brought earlier.
