Chapter 3 - 2:13 A.M.
I don’t remember crossing the room.
One second I was standing by the stove.
The next, June was in my arms.
“Come on, baby.”
Her face was bright red.
Then darker.
My hands went ice cold.
“Breathe.”
I turned her slightly, cleared her mouth, patted her back the way the pediatrician had shown us.
Nothing.
“June.”
Sadie began screaming.
“Please.”
Then June coughed.
Once.
Twice.
Milk came out.
She sucked in a ragged breath.
I nearly dropped to my knees.
I held her so tightly she protested.
“That’s right,” I whispered. “Cry. Scream. Wake the whole neighborhood.”
I called the nurse line.
They walked me through what to watch for.
Color normal?
Yes.
Breathing normally?
Now, yes.
Responsive?
Very.
After twenty minutes, the nurse told me I could continue monitoring her at home but to seek immediate care if anything changed.
I sat on the floor between both babies.
And shook.
My phone was beside me.
I called Brandon.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
I texted:
June had a choking episode. Call me.
Twenty-three minutes later:
Is she okay?
I stared at the words.
Now she is. I need you to call.
Nothing.
At 9:41:
Sorry. At dinner. Signal bad. Call you before bed.
He didn’t.
By midnight, both girls had woken three more times.
At 1:48 a.m., I heated a bottle and caught myself standing in the kitchen with no memory of why I was there.
At 2:13, I sat down to feed Sadie.
The next thing I knew, someone was screaming.
Me.
I had fallen asleep sitting upright.
Sadie had slipped sideways against my arm.
She was safe.
Completely safe.
But she could have fallen.
I moved her into the bassinet and stumbled backward.
My entire body began shaking.
“No.”
I pressed both hands over my face.
“No, no, no.”
I wasn’t okay.
That was no longer a feeling.
It was a fact.
I needed another adult in the house.
I called Tessa.
My best friend answered after four rings.
“Audrey?”
Her voice was instantly awake.
“I’m sorry.”
“What happened?”
I started crying so hard I couldn’t speak.
Tessa lived ninety minutes away.
Her husband was working overnight.
She had a three-year-old and a one-year-old sleeping upstairs.
“I can come when Michael gets home,” she said. “Six-thirty. Maybe seven.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking.”
After we hung up, I sat on the kitchen floor.
There had to be somebody closer.
I opened my contacts.
Scrolled through names.
Then stopped.
Dad.
I hadn’t called that number in seven years.
I wasn’t even sure it still belonged to him.
For thirty seconds, my thumb hovered over the screen.
Seven years of anger.
Seven years of birthdays ignored.
Seven years of Christmas cards returned unopened.
My father had said something unforgivable once.
And I had punished him with silence ever since.
But that night, I was more afraid of failing my daughters than I was of hearing his voice.
I pressed call.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Then a man answered.
“Audrey?”
He knew it was me.
Immediately.
My throat closed.
“Dad?”
Silence.
Then, very softly:
“What happened?”
I started crying again.
“I need help.”
May you like
His answer came without hesitation.
“Tell me where you are.”
