When I stepped back into the room, the silence hit me first.
Just my daughters.
Riley.
And a folded note.
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My name written across it.
I opened it.
For illustrative purposes only
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“I’m sorry, Erica.
I can’t do this. I can’t do babies. I know we wanted them so badly, but I think I was caught up in your excitement, not mine.
I can’t do this life.
Don’t come looking for me.
You and the girls will be better off without me.
— Sam.”
I read it once.
Then again.
Because my mind refused to accept that this was real.
“Erica?” Riley’s voice was soft, careful. “Are you okay?”
I looked at her—but it felt like looking through glass. “Where’s Sam?”
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She shifted uncomfortably. “A nurse came for him after you left. Said there was paperwork at the front desk.”
My heart started pounding.
“Did he say anything?”
She shook her head. “Not to me. But he kissed the girls on their foreheads. His gaze lingered.” Her voice caught slightly. “I asked if he wanted me to call you. He said no. He said to let you eat first.”
Let you eat first.
I handed her the note with shaking hands.
And I was already dialing.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Voicemail.
Then Gia.
She answered too quickly.
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“Hello?”
“Where is he?”
Silence.
“Who, Erica?”
“Your son left me in a hospital room with two newborns and a note. Where is he?”
Her voice turned cold. Controlled. Calculated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You should try sounding surprised.”
“Erica—”
“If you know where he is, tell him this: he doesn’t get to disappear and pretend it’s a good decision for me and my girls.”
I hung up.
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Because if I didn’t, I was going to break in a way I wouldn’t come back from.
I cried once that day.
Just once.
In a hospital bathroom that smelled like antiseptic and something bitter.
When I came back, Riley was holding Lily, gently rocking her.
