The first hour passed quietly.
I expected someone to knock.
Nobody did.
Mark sat beside my bed, occasionally checking his phone.
I tried to rest, but every sound in the hallway caught my attention.
Footsteps.
A nurse pushing a cart.
A visitor speaking into a telephone.
Each time, I looked toward the door.
Each time, it was someone else.
Eventually, I heard a knock from the room next door.
Then laughter.
Then more voices.
Harper's visitors were arriving.
I knew she had a large circle of friends and relatives who liked to make a fuss over special occasions.
That was fine.
I was happy for her.
At least, I wanted to be.
A little while later, Mark stepped into the hallway to speak with someone.
When he returned, he was carrying a small paper cup of water.
"Everything all right?" I asked.
"Yes."
He placed it on the bedside table.
"There's quite a crowd down there."
I looked at him.
"At Harper's?"
He nodded.
I tried to sound cheerful.
"Good. She'll enjoy that."
Mark didn't answer immediately.
He looked at Sadie, then at me.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
I nodded.
"Of course."
I wasn't.
But I wasn't ready to admit that.
The next time I heard my mother's voice, it was louder.
She was talking to someone about the baby.
I couldn't make out every word, but I heard her laughing.
Then my father's voice joined hers.
I imagined him standing beside Harper's bed, probably telling everyone that the little boy had his family nose.
I could picture the whole scene.
Mom holding the baby.
Dad taking photographs.
Harper smiling.
Ryan standing nearby.
Everyone congratulating them.
And I was happy for them.
I was.
But there was a part of me that kept asking the same question.
Why couldn't they come here, too?
It wasn't as if my room was on another floor.
It wasn't even at the other end of the building.
Two doors.
That was all.
I looked at the empty visitor chairs.
One stood beside the window.
The other was near the small cabinet where the hospital kept supplies.
I had imagined those chairs being occupied.
My mother in one.
My father in the other.
Maybe they would argue about who got to hold Sadie first.
Instead, they remained empty.
At some point, I asked Mark to take a photograph of me holding her.
He positioned himself beside the bed.
I adjusted Sadie's blanket and tried to smile.
The picture was lovely.
My face looked tired, but my daughter was awake.
Her eyes were barely open.
I sent the photograph to my mother.
I added a short message.
Sadie is here. She's beautiful.
Then I waited.
A few minutes later, the message showed as delivered.
No reply.
I told myself my mother was busy.
There were visitors.
There was a new baby.
She probably hadn't checked her phone.
I put mine down.
Another hour passed.
Then another.
I started noticing how much time Mark spent looking at the clock.
He never complained.
He never told me I should stop waiting.
But I could tell he was disappointed on my behalf.
I hated that.
I didn't want my husband to have to watch me feel unwanted.
I wanted to be enjoying my daughter.
I wanted to talk about her little hands and the way she moved her mouth in her sleep.
Instead, I kept listening for my parents.
At one point, Mark leaned toward me.
"Have they sent anything back?"
I shook my head.
"Not yet."
He frowned slightly.
"Maybe they're still with Harper."
"They probably are."
I tried to sound casual.
He reached for my hand.
"You don't have to make excuses for them."
That sentence stayed with me.
Because I had been doing exactly that.
I was making excuses before anyone had even accused them of anything.
I was protecting my parents from a disappointment they had created themselves.
I turned my head toward Sadie's bassinet.
She had started making tiny noises.
I reached over and rested my hand against her blanket.
"You're all right, sweetheart."
Mark stood and checked the room temperature.
Then he adjusted the blanket near her feet.
We were both learning.
We were both tired.
And we were both trying to make the room feel like the beginning of a family.
By the afternoon, I heard someone mention a cake.
A large one.
The voice came from the hallway, followed by laughter.
I looked at Mark.
"Did they bring cake?"
He gave me a small nod.
"Looks like it."
"For Harper?"
He hesitated.
"I think so."
I looked down at my hands.
I hadn't expected a cake.
I hadn't expected flowers.
I hadn't expected balloons.
I hadn't expected anything expensive or elaborate.
A visit would have been enough.
A simple hello.
A few minutes.
Even a quick look at Sadie before they returned to Harper's room.
But the hours kept passing.
I began to feel foolish for caring so much.
I was an adult.
I had a husband.
I had a beautiful daughter.
I had everything I had spent years hoping to build.
Why did I still need my parents to walk through that door?
I couldn't answer that question.
Perhaps because being independent didn't mean I had stopped being their child.
Perhaps because there are moments when even the strongest person wants someone to show up without being asked.
By late afternoon, I was exhausted.
The medication had helped with the pain, but my body felt heavy.
I tried to close my eyes.
Then I heard a burst of laughter from Harper's room.
I opened them again.
Mark noticed.
He pulled his chair closer.
"Clara."
"What?"
"Look at Sadie."
I did.
"She's beautiful," he said.
I smiled.
"She really is."
"And she's got two people who are crazy about her already."
He placed his hand over mine.
I knew what he was trying to do.
He was reminding me that our little family was enough.
And it was.
But I still wanted my parents.
That was the embarrassing truth.
Around the time the afternoon began turning into evening, I checked my phone again.
Nothing.
No response to the photograph.
No message asking how I felt.
No question about whether Sadie was feeding properly.
Nothing.
I looked at the clock.
Nearly nine hours had passed since my parents arrived at the hospital.
Nine hours.
I couldn't understand how anyone could spend that long in a building and never make time to visit their other daughter.
I tried to think of a reason.
Perhaps Harper was having trouble.
Perhaps Ryan needed help.
Perhaps Mom was too worried to leave.
But I knew Harper had delivered a healthy baby boy.
I had heard the celebrations myself.
There had been no indication of an emergency.
My parents simply weren't coming.
That realization hurt more than I expected.
I turned toward the window.
The light outside had begun to change.
The room was quiet except for the soft beeping of the monitor and Sadie's occasional little sounds.
Mark had been watching me.
Finally, he spoke.
"Your mom and dad still haven't been in?"
I shook my head.
He looked genuinely upset.
I tried to make it easier for him.
"They're probably tired."
He gave me a look.
"Clara, they've been here all day."
"I know."
"So have you."
I didn't answer.
He reached over and squeezed my shoulder.
"Sadie and I are lucky you're here."
I smiled.
It was a kind thing to say.
A very kind thing.
But it also made my eyes sting.
Because my husband could see what my parents couldn't.
I wasn't asking for much.
I wasn't asking them to rearrange their lives.
I just wanted them to come into the room.
I wanted them to see the little girl I had spent months waiting to meet.
And I wanted them to understand that I needed them, too.
I picked up my phone.
My mother's name was still at the top of the recent calls.
I stared at it for several seconds.
Then I pressed the call button.
It was 6:15 p.m.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: I Finally Asked My Mother to Visit, and My Father’s Answer Reminded Me Why I Had Always Learned to Need Nothing
I Thought Becoming a Mother Would Finally Make My Family See Me Differently, But That Thursday Changed Everything
Part 2 of 8
