Finally, the flood of tears is starting to dry; her face crumples uncertainly, a graceless map of too many emotions, too long spent trying to deny them. Things she couldn't have faced on her own, but had no one else to help her carry.

The baby stirs and shifts, indistinct but unquestionably present. Someday she'll tell him how she tried to keep him present-- playing old, saved voicemails so the baby could hear the echo of his father; telling stories late at night when she couldn't sleep. But for now this is enough. It's everything.

"I expect a lot have guessed. No one's dared to ask."