The Son He Loved More

My husband walked past me while I was still numb from the C-section, picked up one of our twins, and whispered, “There’s my boy.”

The other baby was crying against my chest.

Ethan never even looked at him.

I remember that moment more clearly than almost anything else from the delivery.

Not the operating room lights. Not the anesthesiologist asking if I felt nauseous. Not the pressure in my abdomen while the doctors worked.

I remember Ethan’s face when he saw Owen.

His eyes filled with tears. His hands actually shook when the nurse helped him hold the baby.

“Hey, buddy,” he whispered. “Dad’s here.”

Noah started crying against me.

I was still flat on my back, one arm weak from the IV, trying to keep him tucked against my hospital gown.

“Can you take him for a second?” I asked.

Ethan glanced over.