Part 1 — The Day I Thought the Worst Was Finally Over
The hospital grew smaller in my rearview mirror while my newborn daughter slept in the back seat.
For the first time in thirteen days, I allowed myself to breathe.
Thirteen days in the NICU.
Thirteen days of sitting beside a plastic incubator while machines beeped around me.
Thirteen days of watching nurses check monitors, adjust wires, and speak in those calm voices medical people use when they know a mother is barely holding herself together.
Thirteen nights of returning alone to an apartment filled with baby things but no baby.
Every evening, I walked past the empty bassinet beside my bed.
Every morning before sunrise, I drove back to the hospital.
