Chapter 1: The Double Blessing

In our family, there's a tradition. Every newborn gets a baby blanket, hand-knitted by one of the older women. My sister Willow and I got pregnant at the same time. Mom spent three months picking out the softest cashmere yarn. She even asked me—fawn pattern, or clouds. I was naive enough to think that this time, I was finally the favorite. Then my due date got close. Mom showed up at the hospital holding the finished blanket. Willow threw herself into Mom's arms, glowing. Our brother unfolded the corner of the blanket, grinning. One blanket. Right in the center, embroidered with the initials of Willow's baby. My hand went to my belly. My voice came out quiet. "Mom. Where's mine?" Mom looked away. "I wanted to give Willow's child a double blessing. So I used the money you'd set aside for yours too." Our brother cut me off with a scowl. "Can you lay off Willow for one damn second?" Dad walked in. He picked up the private-room card from my nightstand. Slipped it into his pocket. "You don't need this. Willow does. She's having a C-section. She's suffering." So they did know childbirth hurts. They knew being a mother was dangerous. They just decided Willow's fear was worth the whole family camping out at the hospital. My fear? I could choke on it alone. Willow held the blanket close. The blanket stitched with two blessings. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Vanessa. You're not going to fight me over a baby blessing, are you?" I stared at the dense, tight stitches on the blanket. And suddenly, I wasn't sad anymore. That blanket could be a foot thick. It still wouldn't keep someone warm. Not someone they'd shoved out the door a long time ago. *** "Vanessa, you've been tough since you were a kid. This baby's gonna be tough too." "Willow's always been delicate. Just let her have this." When I didn't answer, Mom tried to smooth things over. "It's just a blanket and a card. Your husband's rich now. You're really going to care about this?" Our brother Damian leaned against the doorframe, scowling. I kept staring at those tight, dense stitches. Gold thread. Willow's baby's initials. Every stitch was a night Mom spent knitting for three months. "Fine. I won't fight." I didn't lose it. Didn't scream and demand answers the way I used to. I just turned around, screwed the cap tight on my water bottle, and dropped it into my canvas tote. Willow let out a breath. Her whole face relaxed. "I knew it. Vanessa always loves me best." She tugged at Mom's hand, wheedling. "Mom, I want cinnamon rolls. From that bakery downtown. Everything tastes like nothing." Mom touched her head, aching for her. "Of course, baby. Mom's going right now." Damian grabbed a notepad off the nightstand. Scratched down an address fast. He scanned the room. His eyes slid past Mom. Landed on me. He shoved the note into my hand. "You go. Willow can't wait." My hand froze on the strap of my tote. I was nine months pregnant. I could go into labor any minute. Downtown. Rush hour. Forty minutes stuck in traffic. "Fine. I'll go." I slung the tote over my shoulder. Didn't look back at them. Walked straight out of the room. The antiseptic hit me in the hallway. Burned the back of my nose. I didn't cry. When disappointment piles up high enough, even tears feel like a waste. I hauled my heavy body down the hall. Step by step. Out the hospital doors. Got into the rental car. Sat in rush-hour gridlock. My stomach churned. The baby felt it. Kicked me, restless. I looked down. Rubbed my belly through the fabric. "It's okay, baby. Mommy only has you." The drive-thru line at the bakery snaked forever. Taillights strung into a red river in the dark. The wind cut cold through my thin maternity dress. I rolled down the window. Rested my arm on the door. Let the cold numb me. The cashier handed out the paper bag. Took one look at me. Her eyes went wide. "Oh, honey. You're about to pop. You came here alone?" I pulled my mouth into something like a smile. "Family craving." "Where's your husband? Your family?" "Letting an expectant mother stand out here in the cold!" She shook her head hard. "Anything goes wrong, it's too late for regrets." I dropped my gaze. Said nothing. Felix was overseas. Blizzard shut down the airport. He couldn't get back yet. He'd arranged a private nurse. The best suite. Everything. I turned it all down. Moved back into my parents' house. I thought this time would be different. Turns out, in their eyes, I'll always be the one they can use up. The errand girl. Disposable. I had the cinnamon rolls by the time the sky went dark. Fresh from the oven. Cloying sweetness bleeding through the paper bag. Into my palms. A faint, weak warmth. My phone buzzed. Voice message from Damian. "You driving across the whole damn country for cinnamon rolls? Willow's stomach hurts. She's starving. Move faster!" I didn't reply. Just silenced my phone. Shoved it back in my pocket. Back at the maternity ward. I stood outside Willow's private room. The door wasn't shut. An inch of space. Laughter spilled out. "Willow, try the chicken noodle soup. Mom simmered it all afternoon." "Thanks, Mom. You're the best." "Of course. You're Mom's heart." "She's never been any trouble." I stood outside, holding a box of cinnamon rolls that was already going cold.