SECTION TWO: FIFTEEN MINUTES
For the first fifteen minutes everything seemed calm.
Lily lay quietly in her small bassinet beside the couch, her tiny chest rising and falling with the gentle rhythm of sleep while sunlight drifted through the living room window and painted soft golden patterns across the carpet.
I sat nearby scrolling through my phone while occasionally glancing over to admire the delicate way her fingers curled against the blanket.
Then the crying started.
At first it sounded ordinary, the soft restless fussing that babies make when they begin to wake from sleep.
I stood up immediately and lifted her from the bassinet, cradling her carefully against my chest while swaying slightly from side to side the way I had seen Megan do countless times.
“Hey there,” I murmured gently.
But the crying did not soften.
Instead it sharpened.
The sound cut through the quiet room with a thin desperate edge that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Her tiny legs curled upward toward her stomach again and again as if some invisible discomfort was twisting through her body.
I checked the bottle warming on the counter even though Megan had said Lily had already eaten.
Perhaps she was still hungry.
Perhaps the feeding schedule had shifted slightly.
I tried offering the bottle anyway.
She turned her head away and cried harder.
