Three babies.
Three carriers.
Three tiny lives lined up on my porch.
“I can’t do this anymore, Eleanor.”
I stared at her.
“Come inside.”
“No.”
“Vanessa, you’re exhausted.”
“I know.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Then she looked toward the taxi.
“They cry constantly.”
“They’re babies.”
“They need something every minute.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t breathe.”
I stepped toward her.
“You just lost Archie.”
Her expression changed.
“So did I.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“You lost your son.”
Her voice hardened.
“I lost the life I was supposed to have.”
I still remember the sentence that followed.
“I’m not spending the rest of my life trapped raising a dead man’s babies.”
I felt as if she had struck me.
“Vanessa.”
“I’m still young.”
She grabbed the taxi door.
“I still have time to marry well.”
My stomach turned.
