Page 91 of The Song We Lost

I don’t respond and she shifts closer, blanket falling from one shoulder.

“I don’t want you spending the next few months chasing something that doesn’t exist,” she says quietly. “I don’t want you exhausted and angry and searching for a miracle while I’m still right here.”

“There has to be something,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

She doesn’t flinch.

“Bailey.”

“No. I’m not accepting this. Not without turning over every stone.”

She studies me carefully.

“I don’t need you to fix it,” she says. “I need you to sit with me in it.”

That’s harder.

Fixing is easier.

Fixing gives me something to do with my mind while my heart breaks.

Sitting means feeling.

“I want you to help me pick her name,” she says softly, grabbing my hand and placing it on her bump. “I want you to help me paint the walls. I want you to be excited.”

“I am excited,” I whisper.

She smiles sadly. “No, you’re scared.”

She isn’t wrong.

Downstairs, Rose is already moving around in the kitchen. The smell of coffee drifts up the stairs. For a few minutes, we just lay there together. Her shoulder pressed against mine. Her hand covering mine over her stomach. Physically I am there with her in my bed, but my brain is still calculating timelines I refuse to accept.

Later that afternoon, we’re in the nursery. The walls are still a dull off-white. The crib is still leaning in its box against one wall. Cole is sitting on the floor with a tape measure, pretending to debate where everything should go, like placement will change the outcome.

“What about Willow?” Sadie asks, holding up her phone.

“Too trendy,” Cole says automatically.

“Excuse me?” she scoffs.

She paces for a moment and then, “Ohhh ok what about that woman that Thomas worked with at the orchard… the one that he thinks would be great to talk to about animals… What’s her name?”

Cole shoots her a look and she giggles. I lean against the doorway and watch them.

This is what she wants.

This right here.

Not hospital rooms.

Not consultations.

Not flights to specialists.

She wants paint swatches, fluffy blankets, hay rides and time with family.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I step into the hallway to answer.