Ethan walked into the room.
At first, I thought he had simply returned from the billing department with another hospital form.
He had been gone longer than expected.
He was supposed to be away for only a short time.
But something about his expression made me stop thinking about the time.
He looked pale.
Not tired.
Not distracted.
Pale in a way that made his face seem unfamiliar.
His jaw was tight.
His eyes moved from me to the bassinet, then back to me.
In his right hand, he held a piece of paper.
It was wrinkled.
He was gripping it so firmly that the edges had folded against his fingers.
I looked at him.
"Ethan?"
He didn't answer immediately.
He closed the door behind him.
Then he stood there, still holding the paper.
I had never seen him look like that.
"What's happened?"
He took a breath.
It wasn't a normal breath.
It was the kind someone takes when they are trying to control their reaction before speaking.
I pushed myself slightly higher against the pillow.
The movement hurt, but I barely noticed.
"Ethan, you're frightening me."
He looked at me again.
Then he glanced toward our daughter.
For a moment, he seemed to be deciding how much to say while she was sleeping beside us.
He walked closer to the bed.
The paper remained in his hand.
I looked down at it.
I could see that it wasn't an ordinary receipt.
There were printed sections.
Lines.
The appearance of something official.
But I couldn't make out the words from where I was lying.
"Did something happen with the hospital bill?"
I asked.
He shook his head.
"No."
That answer made my stomach tighten.
I looked at the clock.
He had been gone for far too long.
"Where were you?"
"The billing department."
"Then why do you look like this?"
He lowered his eyes to the paper.
For a second, he didn't speak.
I had just spent the afternoon feeling abandoned by my parents.
I had cried after my father shouted at me through my mother's phone.
I had finally decided that I couldn't continue supporting people who couldn't even visit me after childbirth.
But I had not expected anything else to happen that evening.
I thought the worst part of the day was already behind me.
I was wrong.
Ethan moved the chair beside the bed and sat down.
He placed the paper on his knee but kept one hand over it.
"Olivia, I need you to listen to me."
I nodded.
He looked toward the door.
Then he looked back at me.
"Your father was in the hallway."
I stared at him.
"My father?"
"Yes."
I didn't understand.
My parents had been in Madison's room all day.
My father had just been shouting about how exhausted they were.
Why would he be looking for Ethan?
"Did he come here?"
Ethan shook his head.
"No. He stopped me before I got to the billing department."
I felt a strange pressure in my chest.
"What did he want?"
Ethan rubbed his forehead.
"He had a document."
I looked at the paper in his hand.
The room seemed quieter.
Even the ordinary sounds from the corridor seemed to disappear.
"What kind of document?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he turned the paper slightly, as if looking at it again might somehow make the situation less troubling.
"He wanted me to sign it."
I blinked.
"Sign what?"
"I don't know why he thought I would do it without asking questions."
I looked at him.
"Did he explain?"
"Not properly."
The words came slowly.
I could hear the anger beneath his controlled voice.
My father had approached my husband in a hospital hallway.
On the day both his daughters had given birth.
While I was lying in recovery.
While our newborn daughter was sleeping beside me.
And he had wanted Ethan to sign something.
I tried to make sense of it.
"Why would Dad need your signature?"
Ethan shook his head.
"That's what I wanted to know."
He looked down at the paper again.
I noticed his fingers tightening around the edge.
"What did he say?"
Ethan leaned back slightly.
"He acted as though it was something that needed to be taken care of immediately."
I frowned.
"Immediately?"
"Yes."
I looked at the document.
"Did you sign it?"
"No."
His answer came quickly.
I felt a small wave of relief.
Then I looked at his face again.
The relief disappeared.
"Then what's wrong?"
Ethan was quiet for a moment.
He seemed almost reluctant to tell me what had happened next.
I knew that expression.
It was the expression he wore when he was trying to protect me from something he knew would hurt.
But I didn't want protection through silence.
Not anymore.
"Ethan, please."
He looked directly at me.
"Your father tried to get me to sign something, Olivia. And the way he approached me made it clear that he didn't want me taking the time to understand what I was signing."
I felt my stomach drop.
I glanced at our daughter.
She was still asleep.
Her tiny hand rested beside her face.
I couldn't understand how the same day could contain so much happiness and so much hurt.
Earlier, I had been waiting for my father to meet his granddaughter.
Now I was hearing that he had approached my husband with a legal document.
I swallowed.
"Why didn't he come to my room?"
Ethan didn't answer.
Perhaps he didn't know.
Perhaps he had been asking himself the same question.
I looked at the paper again.
The creases across it made it appear as though he had been holding it tightly for quite some time.
"Where did you get that?"
He lifted it slightly.
"This is what he was trying to get me to sign."
I stared at him.
I wanted him to explain everything.
I wanted to know what my father had been doing.
I wanted to understand why he had chosen that particular moment.
But Ethan was still gathering his thoughts.
He placed the document carefully on the bedside table.
Then he moved his chair closer.
I looked at him.
"Tell me exactly what happened."
He nodded slowly.
"I will."
I reached for his hand.
He held mine.
For the first time since he had entered the room, his expression softened slightly.
But the worry remained.
I looked at the folded paper beside us.
That morning, I had entered the hospital believing the biggest thing I would face was childbirth.
By evening, I had discovered how little my parents seemed to care about my feelings.
Now there was something else.
Something my father had apparently been trying to accomplish while I was recovering from giving birth.
And Ethan had refused to cooperate.
I squeezed his hand.
"Whatever it is, I want to know."
He looked at the document once more.
Then he turned back toward me.
The paper sat between us.
And suddenly, the question wasn't why my father hadn't visited his granddaughter.
It was what he had wanted my husband to sign, and why he had been so determined to get it done that day.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: The Document My Father Brought Into That Hospital Had Nothing to Do With Welcoming His New Granddaughter
Two Newborn Babies Arrived Within Hours, But Somehow Only One Grandchild Seemed Worth Celebrating to My Parents
Part 4 of 12
