I remember everything exactly. It was 8:35 p.m., March 14. I was reading submissions, and there came Lilly’s three knocks, louder than usual. When I opened the door, the bottom half of her dress was soaked through. My water broke, she said, but it’s not supposed to do that yet, and now I’ve ruined two prints that were in the fixing bath.

I ran across the hall to Mrs. Oblacky’s. I’d never knocked on her door for anything, but one look at Lilly and Mrs. Oblacky helped me get her down the stairs, no questions asked, then sat with her in front of the building while I ran to hail a cab. After she helped me get Lilly into the backseat, she stood making the sign of the cross from the curb as we sped toward Gouverneur, which was one of the hospitals you could go to if you didn’t have any money.

They put Lilly in a wheelchair even though she told them she felt fine. After she finished in Admissions, they said it was time for her to go to Labor and began wheeling her off. I started walking beside her, but the orderly told me to go home. Lilly wants me here! I said. No dice, not even fathers are allowed, the orderly announced in a way that made it clear he was unimpressed with us both. As Lilly disappeared down the hallway, she gave me a wave and tried to smile, but I could tell she was scared. More than anything, I wish I’d brought along her copy of Childbirth Without Fear so that I could have clocked the orderly with it.

For hours I waited around, pestering the nurses, until one of them put her palm to my cheek. Child, these things take time, she told me. Right now the best thing you can do is go home, get some sleep, and come back in the morning. It was the first kind thing anyone had said to me, and I was so grateful for it that I kissed her hand.

35. Samantha, New York, 1955