“Please don’t talk about d:ying while she’s kicking,” I whispered. “That’s exactly why I have to say it now.”
He looked down at my stomach. “If I can’t watch her grow up, maybe I can at least make sure somebody else gets more time with theirs.”
He grew weaker far faster than either of us expected. By my eighth month, I was helping him with his shirt buttons, pretending not to notice him stopping halfway to the bathroom just to catch his breath.
A few weeks before he passed, he started asking to see his doctor privately.
Whenever I asked what they talked about, he’d just squeeze my hand. “There’s something I need to arrange.
Please trust me.” It wasn’t like him to hide anything from me. But he was oddly firm about this one thing.
