The hospital door opened before I could answer. Melissa stepped in, carrying a clipboard and wearing the same calm expression she had worn through my earlier panic.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I need to check your pain level and make sure little Noah is feeding soon.”
At the sound of his name, Noah stirred against Evelyn, making small searching motions with his mouth.
“I can help,” Aunt Evelyn said.
Melissa smiled. “We’ll work around your injuries. No rushing.”
That became the pattern of the next hour. Nobody expected me to be stronger than I was. Nobody stood over me asking why I had not planned better. Melissa arranged pillows until my ribs were supported, Evelyn placed Noah carefully along my uninjured side, and Richard turned his back politely toward the window while I tried to feed my son with one arm and a body that felt like it had been dropped from a height.
