Instead, he stared at the child with an expression I had never seen on him before.
Not disgust.
Not exactly fear.
Something closer to defeat.
As if somebody had handed him confirmation of a disaster he had already been expecting.
“Ethan.”
My voice sharpened.
“What’s wrong?”
He whispered:
“No.”
Vanessa stopped smiling.
“What?”
He adjusted the blanket.
Looked again.
“No.”
One of the nurses stepped closer.
“Sir?”
Ethan turned toward me.
Then said:
“I can’t do this.”
I thought I had misheard.
“What?”
He handed the baby back toward me.
I did not take her immediately.
“Ethan, what are you talking about?”
“I can’t take her home.”
Vanessa stared at him.
The room changed instantly.
Seconds earlier it had been full of relief.
Now every sound felt too loud.
The monitor beside my bed.
The air vent.
A cart moving somewhere in the hallway.
Vanessa said:
“Give me my daughter.”
Ethan finally looked at his wife.
His eyes were wet.
“I’m sorry.”
“Give her to me.”
“Vanessa—”
“Give me the baby.”
Instead, he placed her in my arms.
I was still shaking from delivery.
Now I was shaking for an entirely different reason.
“What happened?”
Ethan pointed.
“Look at her back.”
I turned the baby carefully.
At the base of her spine was a small raised reddish area.
Covered with skin.
Not enormous.
But noticeable once I knew where to look.
Vanessa saw it.
Her expression collapsed.
“What is that?”
The nurse immediately called for the neonatal team.
Nobody in that room gave us a diagnosis based only on appearance.
But within hours, after imaging and consultations, a specialist explained that the baby appeared to have a form of spina bifida that would require further evaluation and likely surgical treatment.
Vanessa sat beside the bassinet holding the baby’s hand through the opening.
She did not leave once.
Ethan disappeared.
Just walked out.
At first, I assumed he needed air.
Ten minutes.
Maybe twenty.
Then an hour passed.
He stopped answering Vanessa’s calls.
She called again.
Again.
Again.
Finally she put her phone down.
Her hands were shaking.
“Where is he?”
I had no answer.
Neither of us did.
I looked through the clear hospital bassinet at the little girl I had carried for almost nine months.
Then at Vanessa.
Then toward the empty doorway.
Something inside me hardened.
Ethan and I were twins.
