“Grief doesn’t get to turn you into the villain.”
I paused the video.
“You knew.”
I stood.
“You knew she might do this, and you didn’t tell me.”
I pressed both hands against my stomach.
“You knew.”
“I was your wife, Mark. You didn’t have to protect me from everything.”
That was the first time I’d been angry with him since he died.
It felt awful.
It also felt honest.
***
Two days later, Violet arrived carrying a small embroidered blanket.
“I’ve been thinking Cecelia should carry Mark’s name somehow.”
It felt awful.
I stared at her.
“We already chose her name.”
“She should have something from her father.”
“She doesn’t need his name added to hers to be his daughter.”
Violet’s eyes flicked toward my stomach.
“Mark told me he’d changed his mind.”
“We already chose her name.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“You weren’t part of every conversation we had.”
“Neither were you.”
“He kept things from you.”
That one landed.
But it didn’t make her right.
“Neither were you.”
“Mark and I chose Cecelia’s name together.”
“Sally…”
“Go home.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“You’ve questioned Mark’s judgment. You’ve let people question mine. Now you’re rewriting what he wanted for our daughter.”
“Go home.”
Her mouth trembled.
“I just lost my son.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know what that feels like.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“I just lost my son.”
“And you don’t know what it feels like to lose my husband while carrying the child he’ll never meet.”
She went quiet.
“We can hurt differently without destroying each other.”
Violet left.
***
Cecelia was born two weeks later in a quiet, uncomplicated delivery.
When they placed her against my chest, she tucked her thumb into her fist.
She went quiet.
Mark slept like that too.
“Of course you sleep like your dad.”
When Violet came to meet her, she asked, “Can I hold her?”
That question mattered.
