But the woman in the bed had nearly died alone after delivering twins while their seven-year-old daughter searched for help.
This was not the moment to demand that suffering become proof.
“I should have searched harder,” he said.
Anna began crying.
“Lily thinks she saved them.”
“She did.”
“I told her to wait for a truck.”
“No one stopped.”
Her face crumpled.
“She pushed them all that way?”
“Yes.”
“I made her do that.”
“No. You gave her the only instruction you could. She followed it because she loves them.”
Anna looked at his hands.
“Is she really yours?”
Daniel held up the result.
“Yes.”
The word broke something open in both of them.
Anna covered her face.
Daniel sat beside the bed.
Neither tried to repair eight years in one conversation.
There would be time for anger.
Questions.
Lawyers.
Medical bills.
Custody arrangements.
Explanations.
But that morning, they spoke only about Lily.
