“Three days?”
Her voice was barely audible.
Then her eyes widened.
“The babies.”
He told her they were alive and receiving care.
She tried to sit up.
The effort lasted only a second before the staff stopped her.
“My daughter?”
“She’s safe too.”
That was when the mother began crying.
Quietly at first.
Not because she had heard bad news.
Because she had finally heard enough good news to understand what could have happened.
The six-year-old was brought in after the staff agreed her mother was stable enough for a short visit.
The girl entered slowly.
For all the urgency she had shown when pushing the wheelbarrow, she suddenly seemed unsure of what she was allowed to do.
Her mother lifted one hand from the blanket.
That was permission enough.
The girl crossed the room and pressed herself carefully against the side of the bed.
Her mother touched the back of her sweatshirt.
