Chapter 5 - Emma Was Born Into an Estate Nobody Had Finished Understanding
Emma arrived at thirty-nine weeks.
Healthy.
Six pounds, fourteen ounces.
Caleb had been dead for six weeks.
I had imagined childbirth without him only in nightmares.
Then it became:
Tuesday.
My mother held one leg.
A nurse held the other.
I cried when Emma was placed on my chest.
Not because:
single motherhood.
Not because:
fear.
Because she looked enough like Caleb around the eyes that I thought grief might split me physically.
We named her:
Emma Rose Hartman.
The name Caleb wanted.
The middle name from my mother.
Marianne came the next afternoon.
She held Emma and cried silently.
Drew sent flowers.
Huge arrangement.
Card:
Your dad would be proud. Love, Uncle Drew
I wanted to believe:
whatever business fight existed
could remain separate from:
family.
Then I came home.
Sleep disappeared.
Days became:
feeding,
diapers,
healing,
crying.
The estate attorney emailed:
documents.
I barely opened them.
An OSHA investigator requested another interview.
I postponed one week.
The valuation firm asked for company financial statements.
Drew delayed producing:
them.
Then the house was painted black.
And suddenly I understood that avoiding questions was no longer protecting:
my postpartum recovery.
May you like
Somebody had brought the questions to my front door.
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