Olivia’s Room
The message reached us while I was in labor.
I was lying in a hospital bed at St. Vincent’s in Indianapolis with a monitor strapped across my belly and an IV in the back of my hand. It was eleven-forty at night. I was six centimeters dilated. The contractions were coming every four minutes. Each one felt like somebody was wringing out my spine like a dish towel.
Daniel was sitting beside the bed. Holding my hand. Counting my breaths with me. He hadn’t slept in twenty hours. Neither had I.
His phone buzzed on the tray table.
He glanced at it. He almost ignored it.
Then he picked it up.
It was our neighbor. Mrs. Okoye from across the street. Seventy-six years old. She watches our house like a hawk. She texts Daniel whenever a package sits on the porch for more than an hour.
Hey, is everything okay? There’s a moving truck outside your house. Your parents are carrying boxes inside.
Daniel read it twice.
Then he looked at me.
“What?”
He stepped into the hallway and called my mother.
I could hear him through the door. The walls in labor and delivery are thin.
She answered on the second ring. Cheerful. Like it was the middle of the afternoon.
“Oh, Daniel! How’s Hannah? Any news?”
“Sharon,” Daniel said. “Why are you at our house?”
“Oh, we’re just helping Jason settle in.”
Daniel didn’t say anything for a second.
“Settle in where?”
“The spare room.”
“We don’t have a spare room.”
There was a pause.
Then my mother said:
“Well, the nursery is empty right now.”
Daniel stared at the wall.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
TAP ” READ MORE ” 👇
