My SIL didn't move. She just stared at him.
"When I saw her back, I broke. And then I heard the word 'surgeries.' I used her diagnosis as a way out. I'm so sorry."
"You lied to me for months," Melissa whispered. "Not about the baby. About us."
"I know."
"When I saw her back, I broke."
"I would've sold every stick of furniture in that nursery, Ryan. I would've worked two jobs. I would never have chosen money over our daughter."
My SIL stood up and walked over to me. Her hands were shaking as she reached for Hope.
I placed the baby in her arms, and Melissa's tears fell onto the blanket.
"Dr. Patel called this afternoon," I said quietly. "It's a mild form. One surgery in the first few months. With therapy, she has an excellent chance of a full, active life."
"I would've worked two jobs."
My brother dropped his face into his hands and sobbed.
Melissa looked down at Hope, then over at him.
"I'll forgive the panic," she said. "I won't forgive silence again. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," he said between tears.
"I'll forgive the panic."
I watched them — my brother, his wife, and their daughter — and I felt something loosen in my chest that had been clenched since our parents died.
I kissed Hope's forehead and stepped back, and for the first time since her birth, I knew we'd be okay.
