My heart was pounding.
Michael leaned against the table, staring down for a moment before speaking again.
“Do you remember what happened seven years ago?”
I frowned.
“Seven years?”
“Yes.”
I tried to think.
Seven years earlier had been a difficult time. Lucas had just been born, and I was working nonstop to support my family.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I said.
Michael crossed his arms.
“There was an accident.”
The word struck something deep in my memory.
And suddenly it came back.
A rainy night.
A dark road outside Dallas.
I had been driving home from a work trip, completely exhausted.
A truck appeared suddenly in front of me.
Then everything went black.
“The hospital…” I whispered.
Michael nodded.
“That’s right.”
My chest tightened.
“But what does that have to do with—”
“That night,” he said gently, “you weren’t the only one in the hospital.”
He paused.
“Laura was there too. She was eight months pregnant.”
My throat tightened.
“There was a medical emergency,” he continued. “The hospital was overwhelmed because of a major highway accident. Several surgeries were happening at once.”
Slowly, pieces of the story began forming in my mind.
“Both babies were born that same night,” he said.
My eyes widened.