Diego and Paola followed me.
“Laura, wait.”
I continued walking.
He caught up as I entered the elevator and stopped the doors from closing.
“Please.”
The word sounded unfamiliar coming from him.
He had never needed it when he believed he was right.
“I am going to get tested,” he said. “DNA, semen analysis, whatever you want. We are going to fix this.”
I looked at him from inside the elevator.
“Do not confuse fixing with returning.”
The doors closed.
Only then did I bend forward and begin crying.
I held the ultrasound pictures against my chest while a stranger asked whether I was all right.
I wasn’t.
But both my babies were alive.
For that day, it was enough.
When I reached home, I locked the door.
Then, almost automatically, I pushed a chair against it.
I wasn’t certain whether I was acting out of fear or discovering a new kind of courage.
