Tough as nails is not quite the phrase for the way Grace has been on me since I served Ty with the divorce papers. She hasn’t accepted, like my husband, that my marriage is over. During our last session, she hit me hard with a visualization exercise that encompassed me alone with Aspen. I really bucked her ways, trying to avoid anything she pushes at me.

Grace finally leans over from the chair she always sits in during the sessions and says, “I am not giving up on you, Emma, even though you are. Either we do this today, or we don’t. But I can fucking guarantee you that we will be going through this until you give a little.” She is convinced now that my medicine dose is correct and it is a mind over matter thing, not wanting to admit I can indeed do this. It is at this moment I say the exact opposite.

“I can’t fucking do this!” I shout.

I stand to take my leave, but she blocks the door. “Sit your ass back down.”

I don’t admit defeat often because I am Emma Lois Wallace Hunter and I won’t do anything I don’t want to do, but fuck, I know when I am beaten. Sitting down in the chair, I say, “Okay, fine. Hit me.”

Of course, I don’t mean literally hit me, but she seems so mad at me, I am sure the thought crosses her mind a little. I laugh at Grace’s little tantrum. She is always calm, but this time, she is not backing down at all.

Without showing much more emotion, Grace returns to her normal calm self. “Tell me about the room you picked for her.”

I smile at the memory of Ty and me fighting about pink walls. “He wanted this awful pink, and I wanted a calming turquoise.” I begin to describe the room, from where I found my inspiration to when I bought what Ty coined “the silly chandelier” for a baby.

Grace’s stares intensify the more she looks at me. “Now, when you were pregnant, what was the one thing you looked forward to?”

Oh, she is pushing me, and I am fucking shaking as though I’m cold, sitting on my porch in the frigid temperatures at the onset of autumn in Washington State. “Emma, one simple thing. I know you had a wonderful pregnancy, so this has to be easy.”

Easy for whom is what I want to ask. I finally answer, “Read. I love to read, and I wanted to share that with her at an early age.”

I think this is over because I gave Grace something, but no, it isn’t. “Do you have a rocking chair in her room?”

“Yes, we bought two. One for her bedroom and one for the living room.”

Grace approaches me, holding my hands when she says, “I want you to close your eyes. You are in the soothing room with the turquoise walls. Tyler brings you Aspen. He gives her a kiss and says, ‘Ems, I am doing the dishes tonight so you can spend time with Aspen.’”

I laugh. Ty only does the dishes when he wants to get lucky, but I don’t interrupt her.

Grace continues, “What is Aspen doing when you take her?”

I start to breathe heavy, and with Grace’s touch, I know I must calm, self-soothe. I am trying hard to see her in my arms in the mahogany rocker I bought. Silence consumes me as I try like hell to see her, to remember her. I can spot her eyes. In my vision, it is the first thing that pulls me in, then I see it. “She reaches for my nose.” I open my eyes, and Grace is staring at me, smiling.

“That is it for today.” I stand to leave when Grace continues, “And, Emma, you did well. You did really well.”

* * *

Jolie knocks on my door holding a passed out Reagan in her arms. “Hey, I know you’re mad at me, and hell, Emma I have missed you.” She hugs me, and I take in the sweet smell of Reagan. “I was trying to respect Grace’s wishes, and though I agree a little with her, I need you. You’re my person.” I stand back, unable to say anything, but Jolie has more to say, I soon find out. “Reagan, she has been teething, and I’m meeting with my parents in Anders’s office. I don’t want them to see her yet. They don’t get that pleasure right away. I hate to ask this of you but …”

I reach out for Reagan’s little body. She’s a tiny baby. I’m used to one who came out looking like a three-month-old, but with Reagan, she takes after her mama. “I’m not mad; I just fucking miss you both. But you never have to ask. I love having Reagan, you know that. I’ll take her back to your room where I can put her down. Besides, your place is more suitable for her than here.” Jolie loosens her grip while I take Reagan and put her in the crook of my neck. I’m not her mom—she’s crazy for her mother—but she does adore me. Looking up at me, Reagan smiles when she feels safe in my arms and cuddles right back into my neck. It is so sweet.

Jolie is right to keep her precious baby from her parents until they can take responsibility for their part of her breakdown at such an early age. When she needed them the most, they turned their backs on her. As that thought enters my mind, the second I walk into Jolie’s little apartment, placing Reagan in her crib, I realize what a hypocrite I am. I have done the same thing to my husband and daughter as I remember the divorce papers my lawyer filed well over a month ago. I know for a fact Tyler has gotten them. Of course he has since he has been calling me like crazy.

After putting Reagan in her crib, I hear a small little sound come from her room. Being around Reagan a lot, the sound sends up a red flag, and I walk quietly into her room, wondering if I’m overthinking things. When I walk in, my heart slows, seeing that Reagan is still and quiet until I look further and her little stomach is not going up and down. Turning on the bedside lamp Jolie put between her bed and Reagan’s crib, I see she doesn’t startle at all, and my skin begins to sweat, and my nerves take over. She has always been a very restless sleeper. Examining her further, I see her lips are now blue. Picking her up immediately, I sit down on the bed and instincts take over. Placing Reagan on my leg, where her stomach is primarily where my knee is, I smack her on the back, thinking something may be lodged in her mouth. I’m not sure why I thought it could be something blocking her airway, but it was the first thing I could think to do. Yelling loud now for help, it’s useless because the only other family who lives here are out on the weekly food run. I have never missed my cell phone as much as I do right now. However, there’s a phone in Jolie’s room that goes straight to reception, and I hope like hell that Anders or Grace picks up.

Still pounding on Reagan’s back, I hear a small piece of metal clank on the hard tile floors that I normally hate, but right now, that tells me my instincts are right. I turn her around, and though she’s a little unresponsive at first, Reagan looks at me, starting to scream. This may be the first time I’m happy to hear this baby cry.

With my head cradling the old phone in Jolie’s apartment, I hear Grace answer. “Emma?” she says, knowing I’m watching the baby in Jolie’s room. After hearing the baby, her voice now sounds the way I feel. “What’s wrong with Reagan?”

“She was choking. I think she’s all right, but you need to send the doctor over to make sure.”

“What do you mean she’s choking?” Jolie’s voice is heard over Reagan’s screams.

“No, she was. I got it out.” Leaning over, I see it’s the smallest of screws shining on the floor. “I think it was a screw from her crib.”

With a lot of commotion in the background, I finally hear Grace say, “Anders and Jolie are on their way. I’m calling 911 to be on the safe side.”

It is at least a five-minute walk from the administration offices to the family apartments, but it’s no surprise when Jolie bolts through the door less than a minute after I hang up the phone with Grace. “Emma.” She’s panting. “What happened?” Now she is both panting and crying as she nearly yanks the screaming baby from my hands, and I’m in awe as Reagan instantly calms in the arms of her mother.

“I think this must be from the crib.” I hand her the little tiny screw, and her face pales.

“That is the same fucking screw I told Norman about last week. I ended up putting it back in.” I hear her voice, and the guilty way she looks at this screw she’s still holding in her hand. I know that mom guilt as it washes through her.

Anders now barrels in the door when Jolie finally has her baby hushed. I marvel at her maternal instincts and wonder if that will ever be me.

“You all okay?” he asks, and Jolie looks like she could undo him with her own hands. Nothing gets her more undone as someone being irresponsible with her child.

“It is better that I don’t say a word!” Jolie screams.

Anders is confused, so I explain, “She has been asking for a new crib for a while, and Norman told her no. He was supposed to fix a screw but never did, so Jolie tried to do it. Let’s just say, she’s not ready to see Norman right now.”

Jolie takes Reagan in their room, and I hear her crying. Reagan is all that has gotten Jolie through the hell of the past year. I’m sure she’s now thinking that her little girl’s choking could have ended so much worse than it did. Within ten minutes, the medics and Jolie’s parents surround us. Grace tries to keep her parents at bay in the hallway, but they seem way too curious about their little granddaughter; the one they asked Jolie to abort and the reason they kicked her out.

After Jolie leaves in the ambulance, asking Grace and me to meet her there, I look at Grace as she and I try to calm ourselves on the way to the hospital. “I know Jolie needs us, but can we make a quick stop?”

Grace looks at me like I’m crazy. “Just trust me,” I assure her.

Within ten minutes after dropping me off at Wal-Mart, I emerge with a large box, and Grace only grins at me.

Now, with everything we need to make Jolie and Reagan feel safe, we drive the short five minutes to the hospital. Grace grabs my hand. “For someone who is very hard on herself like you are, Emma, and claims not to have maternal instincts, you just delivered the one thing Jolie will need to put this horrible experience behind her.”

“It is that I know her well, that is all.” I insist.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You have been claiming for as long as you’ve been here that you have no maternal know-hows, and I see how you are with Reagan. You do. Right now, you are hiding behind your fears.”

“Shit, Grace. I have just had the scare of a fucking lifetime, and you are using it as a therapy session.”

Grace shrugs. “This is your life, sweetheart, and you are missing out on it. You have been given this gift. You are past the postpartum; now, you are only holding fear as a reason not to move on. From what I saw just an hour ago, Jolie owes Reagan’s life to you.”

I look out the window while Grace parks her huge SUV. I don’t want this to be more than me helping someone I care for.

“Honey, listen, you don’t have to make any decisions right now. Just think about what I told you.” Taking her phone, she continues, “I’m texting Anders now to tell him to get his tool kit out because he has a new crib to assemble. I’m pretty sure Jolie doesn’t want Norman to do it.”

I laugh because when Jolie gets ahold of Norman, all bets are off, but I’m pretty sure, she’ll win.

* * *

Three days go by and life returns as normal, though Norman has been keeping a low profile from Jolie, Grace, and myself. When Jolie returned that night to a brand-new antiqued white sleigh crib, I thought Jolie would never stop crying. She’d been so appreciative and couldn’t quite talk after being overcome with the emotions of the day.

After three days, I finally approach her about her parents. She only sighs because they ended up in the ER that night with Reagan. “I’m not sure. They are my parents. I’m only given one mom and dad in this world, after all, and they were always good parents. That has to count for something.”

Those words pierce my heart. “Emma, what you did for Reagan and myself — I can never repay you.”

Talking about Reagan’s scare fills me with the most blood-curdling anxiety. That baby is more important to me than I care to admit. Looking at Jolie, I realize she’s not quite finished with her sentiments.

“Listen, Emma, you are so important to me and Reagan, but I have to tell you something you won’t want to hear.”

When she says it like that, she’s probably right. “Then don’t say it.”

“It’s time to go home and face your fears head-on. You have a husband who’d do anything for you. You saved my baby, and for that reason, you are ready for the next step. It’s time to go home and be a mother to the baby you gave birth to.”

For only seventeen, her instincts are that of a forty-year-old. I stand to take my leave because I refuse to discuss this. “Listen, Emma, wait. I’ll always be a part of your life; you’re my family. One day, I’ll see you again, but, Emma, I see you with Reagan. You are great with her. You are hiding now that you are well. You’re afraid you’ll fail. And you know what, you will fail at times, but you will also succeed.”

I walk out of the door, shaken as Jolie’s words hit me straight in the face.

* * *

Back in my room, I hear a slight knock on the door and am surprised to see both Anders and Grace standing in front of me, acting as if someone had died. I’m instantly nervous something happened to Tyler, and then my mind wanders to the baby. At that moment, I realize something. I want to know how my baby is. “What is wrong?” I ask, my nerves taking over any rational thought.

“We need to talk to you for a minute,” Grace says.

“No, don’t tell me it is Ty or Aspen.” I now have them both dead in a ditch in my mind.

Grace grabs my hand. “No, sweetheart, that’s not it.” Stopping, she instantly softens. “You just said your daughter’s name. Do you know what this means?”

With tears streaming down my face, I only say, “Yes, I do. I think I’m ready to go home.” It is at this moment, I understand the trauma of seeing Reagan almost die in my arms brought back all the memories I have for Aspen, almost like it’s reversing the original trauma.

Looking at one another, they start to laugh.

“What is so funny?” I ask.

“We were just about to tell you the same thing.”