In our 15 years of marriage, I’ve seen my husband cry a handful of times. Once, sitting on our balcony in Chicago over a few beers, on the eve of the move that eventually brought us to Seattle. Certainly when he lost his parents. But one moment, back in 2013, caught me completely by surprise.
We kept the lights off in my hospital room at Swedish Medical Center so our newborn son could sleep, uninterrupted, in his clear plastic box. I was ready to take him home—ready to take a proper shower, cut off my hospital bracelet, and tackle this new life with a tiny baby in the mix. My
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