“I did,” I said. “But I’m remembering.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then Noah made a small squeaking sound, and the moment passed.
On the sixth night after the surgery, Hannah was discharged from the maternity ward as a patient, though the twins would remain in the NICU. The hospital arranged a courtesy room nearby for two more nights, but after that, she would need to travel back and forth from Cicero.
She pretended not to be worried.
I pretended not to notice until we were alone.
“I have an apartment near the hospital,” I said.
Her face closed immediately.
“No.”
“Hannah—”
“No.”
“It has two bedrooms. You could stay there while the twins are in NICU. I can stay elsewhere.”
“I said no.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
That surprised her.
“You’re not going to argue?”
“No.”
She watched me suspiciously. “Why?”
“Because you said no.”
The simplicity of it seemed to unsettle her more than pressure would have.
After a moment, she looked down.
“I can’t step into your world and owe you things.”
“You wouldn’t owe me.”
“I know you believe that. But people with money always think debt is only financial.”
I had no answer.
Because she was right again.
Mara eventually found a temporary room through a charity housing program for families with babies in intensive care. It was small, shared, and not guaranteed for long, but Hannah accepted it with visible relief.
I made a donation to the program anonymously.
Mara found out within twelve hours.
She texted me one sentence.
Nice try. Anonymous doesn’t mean invisible.
Then, a minute later:
But the room helps. Don’t make me regret not telling her yet.
I stared at the message and smiled despite myself.
That evening, Hannah asked me to wheel her to the chapel.
