The other somewhere else, possibly never knowing that she had come into the world with a sister who once slept a few inches from her.
My car keys fell out.
They hit the pavement with a loud metallic sound.
“Take me back.”
The nurse looked at me.
“What?”
“Take me back with them.”
We run.
When we got to the maternity plant, I felt my lungs burning.
My husband, Brian, was standing near the nurses' desk.
As soon as he saw me, an expression of relief appeared on his face.
“I thought you were gone.”
I barely looked at him.
“Where are they?”
“Who?”
I stared at it.
“Our daughters.”
His expression changed.
He pointed to the newborn room.
I opened the doors.
And there they were.
Two little cribs.
One next to the other.
For the first time since the doctor had spoken those terrifying words, I stopped thinking about everything that could happen twenty years from now.
