I thought my husband’s acc!dent would be the worst thing I had to deal with that day.
I was wrong.
The doctor had already assured me Ethan was going to be okay when one small discovery made me question the last eighteen months of our marriage.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead, I stood in the hospital hallway holding a clear plastic bag containing Ethan’s belongings and staring at a child’s drawing.
There were three stick figures on the page.
Beside them were two tiny babies wrapped in blue blankets.
Across the top, in uneven crayon, someone had written:
