The Silence of Family
In recovery, they placed him on my chest — warm, breathing, real.
My body trembled. I wanted to hold him, to stay awake, but my arms felt like they belonged to someone else.
“Could someone hold the baby so I can rest?” I whispered.
The nurse looked around. “Let me check if your family’s here.”
They weren’t.
They were in Hawaii — my mother, my sister, and my stepfather.
They knew my due date. They knew I was in labor.
My mother’s last message before boarding had said:
“Good luck! We’re taking off. Call us when he’s here ❤️❤️❤️.”
Three hearts. No presence. No plan.
