Three months after Amelia’s birth, I visited their house one afternoon.
Marissa was upstairs sleeping.
Ryan was in the kitchen warming a bottle.
He checked the temperature.
Then checked again.
Then again.
“You’re going to cool it into ice,” I said.
He looked over his shoulder.
“You checked Sophie’s bottles constantly.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I was a first-time parent.”
He stared at me.
I stared back.
Then we both laughed.
Only for a second.
The laughter faded.
I leaned against the counter.
“You scared me.”
Ryan’s expression changed.
“I know.”
I pointed at him.
“What did Marissa say about that phrase?”
He almost smiled.
“Right.”
Then he looked down at the bottle.
“I scared myself too.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He waited.
“I carried her.”
His eyes lifted.
“I spent almost nine months protecting your daughter with my body.”
He nodded.
“And for one terrible minute in that hospital, when you handed her back to me, you made me feel like I had delivered something you didn’t want.”
Ryan’s eyes filled immediately.
“Emily…”
“I know that wasn’t the truth.”
“I will regret that moment until I die.”
“Good.”
He looked startled.
I continued.
“I don’t want you miserable forever.”
“Then why good?”
“Because certain regrets should remain.”
He frowned.
“They remind you where the cliff is.”
Ryan looked toward the ceiling.
Amelia was sleeping upstairs.
After a long moment he nodded.
“I understand.”
At seven months old, Amelia had her first major surgery.
The entire family gathered at the hospital.
I sat with Sophie near the windows.
Ryan sat beside Marissa.
Hours passed.
Nobody spoke much.
At one point, Ryan stood and walked toward the vending machines.
Marissa’s head snapped up.
For one second, I saw fear flash across her face.
The memory of the delivery room.
The disappearing husband.
The unanswered phone.
Ryan must have seen it too.
He stopped.
“I’m getting water.”
Marissa looked away.
Ryan walked back.
Sat down.
“I can wait.”
It was such a small thing.
Nobody else would have noticed.
I did.
So did she.
When the surgeon finally came out, Ryan did not move until Marissa stood.
Then they walked together.
Amelia came through the procedure well.
That night Ryan sat beside her hospital crib until nearly sunrise.
He never once checked the cost.
A few weeks later, Sophie asked me about what happened.
Kids always hear more than adults realize.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Uncle Ryan ran away when Amelia was born?”
I stopped folding laundry.
“Who told you that?”
“Nobody.”
That meant everyone.
I sighed.
“He left the hospital for a while because he was scared.”
“Was that bad?”
“Yes.”
She thought about it.
“Is Uncle Ryan bad?”
I looked at my daughter.
That question deserved a better answer than most adults give children.
“He did something very bad.”
“But he’s not bad?”
“People are more complicated than one thing they do.”
Sophie frowned.
“So he fixed it?”
“No.”
She looked confused.
“He’s fixing it.”
“That takes longer?”
“Usually.”
She nodded as though she had just discovered something adults should have told her sooner.
Then she went back to coloring.
I stood there thinking that my nine-year-old had just summarized my brother’s entire marriage.
He was fixing it.
Not fixed.
But Marissa still had one decision left to make. Continue to Page 10.
