At one point she warned that if anything happened to me, she intended to haunt the entire room.
I laughed and cried almost simultaneously.
The pain left no room for dignity.
Through all of it, I could feel Evan watching me.
Sometimes his gaze was clinical, focused on the monitor or the chart.
At other moments, he looked like a man realizing that an entire life had continued without him.
He had missed the first positive test.
He had missed the first heartbeat.
He had missed the ultrasound where I learned I was carrying a boy.
He had missed the afternoon when I bought a tiny blue blanket and sat in my truck for forty minutes because my hands would not stop trembling.
He had also missed every night I woke with one hand resting over my stomach, wondering whether I could raise a child alone.
The answer was that I would do whatever was required.
