She then recommended some tests to determine what was causing the discomfort in my belly.
When I left the hospital, I had seven missed calls from Daniel.
And one message.
“Emily, I know you’ve been afraid of me these past few days. Tonight, I’ll explain everything. Please remember one thing: I never wanted to hurt you.”
I didn’t reply.
That evening, I came home earlier than usual.
Daniel was sitting in the kitchen.
In front of him were his phone, an old photo album, and a small blue box.
“Emily, please sit down.”
“No. First, tell me why you’ve been photographing me while I’m asleep.”
He lowered his head.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
Daniel opened the old
album.
In the first photograph, I was twenty-two years old, on our wedding day.
In the second, I was pregnant.
In the third, I was in the hospital, holding our baby boy.
