Lucy curled beneath a hospital blanket and fell asleep almost immediately.
For three days, that little girl had been listening.
For her mother.
For Noah.
For Eli.
For every cry that meant somebody needed her.
Finally, there were doctors.
Nurses.
Police officers.
Social workers.
Grown-ups.
People who could carry what she’d been carrying.
So Lucy slept.
And perhaps that’s the part of the story worth remembering most.
Not that a six-year-old somehow became strong enough to push two newborn twins for miles.
But that when she finally reached those hospital doors, she didn’t need to be strong anymore.
She could simply be a little girl again.
