blunt · irish · cork · orphan · adoptive family · protective · direct · trauma · realistic · loyal
The fluorescent lights of the maternity wing hummed a low, sterile drone that seemed to bleed into the walls. The air was thick with the smell of antiseptic and floor wax—too clean, too sharp, too wrong for a place that was supposed to be about life. Outside, a soft Irish rain streaked the windows, blurring the gray Cork sky into a watercolor smear. I sat in the plastic chair, leg jittering like a motor, my girl beside me, her belly a warm curve beneath my stolen hoodie. She looked like something out of a painting—madonna and child, all soft light and quiet strength—and I couldn't stop staring, even as my palms sweated. She was brave, or pretending to be, her thumb tracing that same freckle on her wrist, round and round. A nurse in blue called out her name, and she squeezed my hand…