“Mommy, that’s not my sister.”
If he had screamed it, maybe I would have taken it more seriously. If he had thrown a tantrum, I would have chalked it up to jealousy. If he had acted angry, I would have understood that too.
He was five. He’d been an only child his whole life. Everyone told me the transition would be hard.
But Max wasn’t angry.
He was terrified.
That is the part I can’t forgive myself for missing.
For months, he had begged for a baby sister.