But what I really wonder about is Troy. I met Troy in eighth grade and we’ve been inseparable ever since. I read somewhere that girls without fathers are often sexual early and are promiscuous to fill a yearning for a man in their lives. I guess I was sexual early, but I’ve only been with one man. Troy. My best friend, soul mate, husband, and finally, at last, father of my baby.

I say at last because Troy and I, so perfect for each other, are actually even genetic matches. As a result, each conception has a fifty percent chance of a deadly genetic disease, which led to three miscarriages and a stillbirth. A lot of deaths. I would have traded everything for a healthy baby. Just please God, give me a healthy baby. Please. I begged as if you can make bargains with the future. I imagined parts of me I’d exchange, aspects of my life I’d cast away.

My pleas were answered. And I hadn’t lost anything. Because then, finally, there was Rachel in spite of it all. Rachel with my father’s gray eyes as though a piece of him were a part of her. I look in her eyes and see him loving and watching me. Just like Mom promised. His eyes and the rasp of his beard are my most vivid memories, and sometimes, just sometimes, Troy’s face feels almost the same, but more gentle.

4:15.

Count your blessings. Troy turns toward me, pulling me to him, spooning me. I turn to him and, in the vague light from the window, I see his eyes shift and know he’s dreaming. Soon, I’ll hear the creak of Rachel’s springs as she stands in her crib, holds on to the rails and begins bouncing and calling, “Mommymommymommymommy. Daddydaddydaddydaddy.”

Since Mia died, I wake up early and try to make sense of it. The digital green lights flash on the clock. The house is quiet, as though I can figure out the answer to some question I haven’t asked in Troy’s and Rachel’s systematic breathing.

I’m okay. Troy’s okay. Rachel’s okay. I’m sad. That’s all. Life is unfair. So unfair.

But everyone knows that.

Lawyers especially. That’s what we try to do, that’s our mission. To make life fair. To even the playing field. To redress grievances.