After years of infertility, I stopped imagining nurseries. I stopped lingering in baby aisles. I stopped saying \u201cwhen.\u201do when my younger sister got pregnant, I poured myself into it. I hosted the gender reveal. I bought the crib, the stroller, the tiny duck pajamas that made me cry in the store. She hugged me and said, \u201cYou\u2019re going to be the best aunt ever.\u201d I wanted that to be true more than anything.My sister and I have always had a complicated relationship. She\u2019s dramatic, often bends the truth, and thrives on attention. Still, I hoped motherhood would ground her.Then Mason was born.At the hospital, I stood beside her bed, heart racing. \u201cCan I hold him?\u201dHer arms tightened around the baby. \u201cNot yet. It\u2019s RSV season.\u201dI offered to sanitize again. I waited.The next visit? \u201cHe\u2019s sleeping.\u201dAfter that? \u201cHe just ate.\u201d
Then? \u201cMaybe next time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I wore a mask. I brought groceries. Dropped off diapers. Cooked meals. Three weeks passed.Meanwhile, I saw photos online\u2014cousins, neighbors, even my mom holding Mason. No mask. No hesitation.I texted her.Me: Why am I the only one who can\u2019t hold him?Her: I\u2019m protecting him.Me: From me?She left me on read.One afternoon, I drove over without texting. Her car was in the driveway. The house was known to me\u2014we\u2019d always come and go freely.The door was unlocked.Inside, I heard the shower running upstairs. And then I heard Mason crying\u2014not the fussy kind, but the desperate, newborn kind.
He was alone in his bassinet, red-faced and wailing. I picked him up. He quieted instantly against my chest, tiny fingers clutching my shirt.That\u2019s when I noticed the Band-Aid on his thighIt wasn\u2019t in a spot typical for a recent shot. It looked placed there\u2026 intentionally.he corner was peeling. I lifted it gently.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
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