After twenty-one exhausting hours of labor, things suddenly became complicated.
Doctors moved quickly.
A nurse kept Ethan back while I was taken down the hallway.
The last thing I remembered clearly was hearing him call after us.
Then came fragments.
Bright lights.
Someone announcing **3:17 p.m.**
And finally, the strong cry of our daughter.
By the following morning, Lily was doing wonderfully.
She weighed seven pounds, two ounces, and Nurse Stella told me Ethan had been pacing the waiting room since five in the morning.
When Stella finally asked whether I was ready for visitors, I smiled.
“Send him in.”
A moment later, Ethan appeared.
His hair was messy.
His shirt was wrinkled from spending the night in the waiting room.
And in his hands was the largest bouquet of white roses I had ever seen.
He crossed the room quickly and kissed my forehead.
**“This is the happiest day of my life.”**
Then he turned toward Lily.
He was still smiling when he leaned over the bassinet.
Suddenly, he froze.
I watched his eyes move across our daughter’s tiny face before stopping just behind her ear.
The bouquet tilted.
Then the roses slipped from his fingers and scattered across the floor.
“Ethan?”
He didn’t answer.
“What’s wrong?”
When he finally looked at me, there was something in his expression I had never seen before.
