ADVERTISEMENT
streaked the glass. Machines hummed. Someone’s shoes squeaked near the foot of the bed.
Then my daughter cried.
Not weakly. Not barely. She cried with the furious, offended strength of a baby who had been shoved from warmth into fluorescent light and had plenty to say about it.
That cry saved my sanity.
I saw her for only a second.
A small face, split by continue reading …
ADVERTISEMENT