“It’s okay,” she whispered, more to herself than to the baby. “We’re okay.” She had to believe it. Someone had to. When her daughter fell asleep again, Emily stood by the crib, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest. James was gone, maybe for good, but the baby wasn’t. And that meant she couldn’t fall apart. Not yet.
A few days later, she remembered the upcoming postnatal checkup circled faintly on the calendar. Routine visit, nothing serious. She almost considered canceling, but something about staying home felt worse. At least at the clinic, there would be answers, something normal to hold on to.