Despite the lateness of the hour and knowing her little boy was asleep, she’d emailed back: I want to talk to Leo. Nick hadn’t replied and eventually Jess had fallen into a fitful sleep. She’d woken at 6:00, anticipating a call around 7:00 when Leo woke up. It hadn’t come. Neither had a call after breakfast. She’d still been waiting when the orderly had wheeled her off to ultrasound.

Jess retrieved her phone from the bedside locker. There was a new email from Nick.

Leo ate breakfast and happily went to daycare. Do I need to pick him up? Please advise your ETA back so I can plan accordingly.

A tornado of disbelief blew through her. Where was the “How are you?”, the “Hope you’re feeling better soon?” The basic humanity?

She typed fast. If you were my next of kin or gave me your phone number you would know this information already!

How could Nick think two brief emails telling her Leo was eating and sleeping were enough when he sent Libby videos of the girls whenever she went away for medical conferences? How could Libby, who never went longer than twelve hours without talking to her children, deny Jess the opportunity to talk to Leo? It defied understanding. It was evil.

Childhood memories rushed her and once again she was a second-class citizen, undeserving of what other people took for granted as a basic right. Well, to hell with that. She punched in Libby’s phone number and when the automated voice asked if she wished to leave a message, Jess vented in four-and five-letter words, finishing with, “Rot in hell!” Next, she called the daycare center and asked to talk to Leo. The director put her on hold and then one of the staff in the Wombat Room came on the line.

“Hi, Jess, Leo’s playing happily in the sandpit.”

“Can I talk to him?”

There were a couple of beats of silence. “The thing is, talking to him will remind him that you’re not here. It might upset him. You don’t want that, do you?”

Frustration almost stole Jess’s breath. Of course she didn’t want to upset him, but she was his mother! She hadn’t seen him in eighteen hours, she was in limbo, waiting for test results and more than anything, she needed to hear her son’s sweet, piping voice.

“Can you at least send me a video of him?” She heard the unsteadiness in her voice.

“It’s not something we usually do—”

“Being in the hospital’s not something I usually do!”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Yes, I’ll take one and send it to you. What’s your number again?”

Somehow Jess managed not to yell that her number was on every piece of daycare documentation to do with Leo. Tightly and slowly she dictated her number.